Saltwater Kisses
by carelessdodger
Summary: Eleanora Potter's life is irrevocably changed when she gets a letter asking if she would like contact with her biological brother in America. From there, her life spirals into a haze of car chases, heists, money and forbidden fruit. If you're going to cross a line, you make sure it's a line worth crossing. And Nora was crossing every single one. Strong M. Incest. Craig/FemHarry
1. Chapter 1

**PART ONE: THE STAG**

**J's P.O.V**

**xXx**

J flicked the business sized card around his hands, between his fingers, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. Much like his mind, actually. No, not actually. A lot like his life in total, in full honesty. His mother's death, meeting his uncles, coming to live with Janine, his grandmother, better known as Smurf, the cops and the Camp Pendleton heist, it had all been like the tide of the ocean. An ebb and flow. A do and retreat. A survive or die deal.

A week ago, he had nearly sold them all out. Smurf, Pope, Baz, Daren, Craig, all of them, ratted on them like a little bitch, handed them over to the pack of snarling wolves known as Oceanside's PD. He wouldn't lie. He had been so close, so fucking close, to doing it. Who could blame him? In a matter of weeks, since moving in with his grandmother, his life had been turned upside down, in and out, ebbing and fucking flowing. Before he could blink, there had been a dead cop, his girlfriend was sleeping with his uncle, an army base robbery was being undertaken by his relatives, a teacher was using him to bail herself out of jail and for a moment, just one, he had wanted it all to stop, to just slow the fuck down and for a brief second, selling them out seemed the only way to quieten his roaring mind and still his frantically beating heart.

Of course, he hadn't in the end. He was a Cody, through and through and well, as Baz told him, nothing was above family. J had grown up poor, in a dingy apartment, druggies and his mother's… _clients _wandering in and out all hours of the day and night, thrift store clothes, no food in the cupboards and the sort of money the Cody's were pulling in, the chance to be a part of that, the pure, unfiltered adrenalin he had felt pumping through him as he dived over that fence and ran across the military base, the chance at family, as dysfunctional as it was, had been too tempting to deny. Oh, don't get him wrong. He trusted none of them. Not really. His own mother, Julia, had taught him not to trust anyone from a young age, not even her. It was her one gift to him.

Smurf and her pride, her incessant manipulations. Baz and his own exploitations, his disregard for J, his almost concealed loathing of J's very existence. Pope and his inner demons. Daren and his hidden self, his second life. Craig and his rebellious anarchy of self-destruction. J saw it all. He saw it all and he _understood. _Life was harsh, brutal, unforgiving, it chipped and chipped and chipped away. Everyone, from Smurf to Catherine, had their own ghosts to fight. It was what made them human. It was what made them _family_. In some way, somehow, it was their brokenness, their shattered souls, that made them bond, made the blood thick, made them family. And the secrets, all their secrets, hidden and pretty and poisonous… But he had his own secrets, didn't he?

"What's that, J?"

His hand stalled in it's flipping, jolted to stillness from the voice coming from over to his left shoulder. Smurf. Sighing, he turned away from the pool, towards his grandmother. She looked fresh out of bed, hot pink silk kimono dressing gown tied firmly at her waist, slippers flapping against the pavement as she strolled towards him, bloody Mary in one hand, lit cig in the other. The bright sun bleached her hair to blinding white.

Irrationally, J thought about throwing the card into the pool, stuffing it back into his hoody's pocket, burning it till it was nothing but ash. But, then again, that would be besides the point of all this, wouldn't it? After he had stuck with them, backed that uppity bitch of a detective into a corner with threats and barely buried rage, he was _in_. One of them. A Cody. He had already been caught out lying one too many times, caught with his own secrets and now, if he really was going to do this, be a part of this family, it was time to come clean. At least on this, if nothing else. It wasn't like he was going to be able to hide this if he did, in fact, decide to go through with it.

By the time Smurf got to the poolside chair, slipping down to sit beside him at the edge, she got her own good view of the card in his hands, the bold lettering of _Bay Area Adoption Agencies _printed in a cheery yellow font with tacky cartoon flowers around it, the number for the company curving like a wave, cresting, at the bottom. She saw it and she laughed.

"Not gone and got a girl knocked up, have you sweetheart?"

J's gaze flickered back to the glimmering pool in their backyard as he tried, did he fucking try, to formulate some coherent words together. What was he meant to say? Was there a right way to say it? His mother, if she were here, would be pissed. Julia would be screaming and hitting and spitting-… But she wasn't here. She was never going to be here again. She had OD right next to him, filled herself so full of heroin that even the paramedics didn't need to take long to proclaim a cause of death. She had left him a long time before that, when she had chosen drugs over him, over _them,_ and what right did she have anyway? These people weren't good people, he highly doubted _he _was a good person, but they were family. He deserved that. _She _deserved that, at least to know they were here, she did have a family, a brother.

"I have a sister. I want to find her."

Smurf's laughter was light and rich, like whipped cream and frosting. It died bitterly, slowly, when he neither joined in with her mirth or looked away from the pool.

"What?"

Smurf asked as she took the little card. J crammed his hands into his hoody's pockets, feeling the glossy papers, just two, hidden safely inside. Slowly, he brought them out, let the sun shine upon their coloured faces for the first time in what must have been years.

"I don't know much, just what mum would say when she was out of her mind, on the bad trips, you know? There's a few photos of her, a birth certificate, but that's it."

His mother had hated those photos, slapped him up the face when J had come across them when he was seven, before telling him never to touch them again, to forget about them as she buried them back at the bottom of their little cardboard photo box she sometimes hid her stash in. Some nights, when his mother was passed out or who knows where with god knows who, J would sneak a look at them. They weren't much, but they were better than nothing.

The first was all of them together, J couldn't have been older than a year old himself, the baby, obviously new, still red and wrinkled and wrapped in a linen blanket, was cradled in his mothers' arms on a dingy hospital cot. The second one was better. It was just the two of them, his mother having likely taken the photo herself, sitting side by side in the sand. He looked around two, chubby, rosy cheeked and fawny curled hair. She, Eleanora, was about a year old, perhaps younger, propped up against him, curly hair ablaze in copper fire, smiling a gummy smile with a single front tooth looking sharp and pearly white, both dressed in swim wear. It must have been taken in one of the good times, where Julia had gone to rehab, tried to clean herself up. Idly, he wandered how long that phase had lasted before she fell off the wagon again. Still, Julia could never make herself throw the photos out, even if she hid them.

Neither could Julia fully stop herself from talking when the heroin was singing in her blood and muddling her mind. His mother would ask for Nora, plead for her with slurred begs and whines, _where's Eleanora? My Nora? My baby? Oh, what a happy baby. Is she still happy? Where is she J? The stag took her, didn't he? No, he can't take her. I won't let him- _For hours, until she passed out, she would talk and talk and talk. Not much of it had made any sort of sense, but over the years, the many, many years, J had put the pieces together. J was pulled out of his mind, his horrid memories, by a hand on his forearm, soft and gentle, as he traced it back to Smurf's face.

"Start from the beginning."

J awkwardly scratched at the back of his neck. He was never any good with words. He was never any good at opening up. Shit. He was beginning to think he wasn't good for anything.

"I was only a year old when she was born. I can't remember her. Not really. I have the birth Certificate and hospital files, these photos, the agency mum used to put her up for adoption, but that's about it. I know mum was having trouble with money, working for the next fix. She was already struggling with me. I mean-… I don't know. I think mum thought it was for the best. Back in those days, she wasn't so bad. She was still trying. Mum put her up for adoption a few months after Eleanora turned a year old, when she relapsed again."

Gradually, J passed the photos he was still clutching to Smurf, who in return, gingerly took them, staring deep and hard at the smiling faces looking back.

"Well, isn't she a pretty little thing. What about the girl's father? Wasn't he around?"

Jay scoffed.

"No. When mum got wrecked, she talked about him, said the stag had gone back into the forest to be with the tree, that she needed to hide Nora from the stag. God knows what she was talking about."

It must have been something J said, a name, a word, an animal because as soon as he finished talking, Smurf became still, statue-esque, frozen and locked. By the time he blinked, though, it was over, and she was looking at him, placing the photos down between them on the lounge chair, wide and toothy grin on her face.

"A stag? Well, my mother always told me my father was a piece of sea glass."

Jay smiled but couldn't shake the glimpse of a still Smurf from the back of his eyelids. Seeing his hesitant smile, Smurf wrapped an arm around his shoulders, jostling him slightly.

"What's brought this on baby?"

J's jaw clenched.

"It's her birthday today. She'd be sixteen now. She's my sister. My little sister. I just-… I wonder about her. Where she is. What she's doing. Does she even know about me? Mum? Mum died and she might not even know. Does she know she's adopted?"

Smurf's hand slinked up into his hair, ruffling as she leant in closer, placing a kiss at his temple. J wouldn't admit it, but he enjoyed these moments. The closeness. The simple expressions of affection that came so easily to Smurf and so hard to him. His mother had always been too jacked to offer much more than vomit and tight hands dragging him down. When she spoke, her words fluttered across his head like the spring breeze.

"You've got a good heart kid. A good heart. Why didn't you tell me before?"

J looked down at his clenched hands, once again shoving them deep into his hoody pocket. The truth was, as much as he wanted to know those answers, to finally find the truth, he wasn't sure what place, with what type of people, he would be bringing Eleanora into. Before, with his mother, with her drugs and sex and delirium towards the end, there was no home or family to offer to his sister. Now, with Smurf, Craig, Daren, Baz and Pope, he still wasn't sure if giving up his secret was for the best, not for Eleanora. But… He was a Cody. He was as selfish, ambitious and scheming as the rest of them and dammit, he just wanted to know if she was even alive anymore or gone and buried like their mother.

"Mum used to flip even if she saw a red-haired baby in the street. She'd curse me out black and blue when I mentioned Nora. I-… I just got used to pretending she didn't exist."

Once again, Smurf good-naturedly jostled him, but her parting lips were snatched words from by the sound of the back gate sliding open, the noise of chatter echoing out. From around the corner, Baz, Pope, Craig and Daren came tumbling in, laughter bright and hot between them. Baz was dressed finely but casually, in his pressed jeans and white T-shirt, Ray-Bans balanced on his nose, dimpled grin splitting his tan face in two. Pope was next to him, crisp navy shirt buttoned to the very top, hands in jean pockets, straight backed and stern looking. Daren was hopping at the side, fiddling with his blonde shoulder length hair, cig caught between his lips as he adjusted his sleeveless shirt and board shorts, hair still wet from the beach. The tallest of them, Craig, brought up the rear, topless, his own swim trunks and long brunette hair wet, surf board tucked underneath his muscled arm.

From the pit of his stomach, a spike of jealousy pierced him, but J quickly stomped that out. Perhaps another reason, as selfish as it was, that he wanted to reunite with his sister was to stop the loneliness, the feeling of being an outsider creeping in when he saw his uncles. Of course, his uncles made their way over and of course, Daren was the one to spot the adoption agency card in Smurf's hands.

"We putting J up for adoption now? Bit late, don't you think?"

Baz and Daren flopped onto two poolside chairs on either side of J and Smurf, kicking back to relax in the summer sun. Pope, as he was often to do, stood awkwardly and primly to attention before them, stiff and shadow long. Craig propped his board up against a wall before skidding to the pool, diving in without a second thought, bobbing back up, flipping his long hair back and out his face, braced his arms against the side and treaded water while grinning at them wolfishly. For a moment, Smurf looked at J, but he stayed hushed and stubborn on the matter. Finally coming to the conclusion that it would be her left to break the news, Smurf pulled away from J, stood and addressed Daren.

"J has a younger sister."

The laughter was instantaneous, loud and, to J, sounded like a pack of hyenas. The only one not laughing out of his uncles was Pope, who flicked his gaze between an avoidant J and a smiling Smurf.

"You're serious?"

At Pope's question, the laughter crumbled in on itself as Daren dubbed his cig out into the ashtray by the side of his chair, Baz pushed up his glasses and pulled himself up, balancing elbow on bent knees, eyes alight and keenly sharp and Craig heaved his six-foot five frame from the swimming pool. Regarding her sons, _her boys, _Smurf crossed her arms over her chest, the sleeves of her kimono looking like wings as they flapped shut.

"Deadly. Julia put the girl up for adoption just after she turned a year old. She's sixteen now."

Baz stood, scrubbing at his eyes with a harsh hand, voice turning incredulous.

"And what? You're just going to ring up and demand they tell you where she is?"

Smurf glowered at him.

"She's sixteen. By law, if we request contact, they will trace her and ask for her consent to it. Then the ball is in her court."

Baz laughed but it was a horrid noise, brittle, dry, sardonic. Like the bourbon he was fond of.

"Don't you think we have enough on our plate right now? We haven't even decided on the next job. This house is already pretty god-damned full."

The rest of his uncles let Baz rant. J, however, was fed up. He knew what his… _uncle_ was really worried about. Another hand, another share. That's all he saw. All he could think of. Dammit, the bastard was adopted into the Cody family himself, was likely J's own fucking father, could have been Eleanora's too, and he couldn't give two shits about anything other than the next job. Before he knew it, J was up and facing down Baz, words tight, dark and heavy.

"She's my sister. She's a Cody."

There it was, the anger, there, lurking in the back of Baz's eyes like a knife glint in a darkened alley. Then, right then, J wanted him to throw a punch, to argue, just so he could swing back and knock that look clean off his face. Baz, in turn, must have seen something he didn't like reflected back from J's own blue eyes, eyes so similar to his so-called uncles. Baz stepped closer to him, nostrils flared.

"Yes, well, does that mean-"

Smurf stubbornly pushed between them, separating the two, hands staying on their chests to keep the two apart.

"Her mother said her father was a _stag_. A stag that had gone to be with the _tree_ again. A stag she needed to hide the child from. Isn't that right J?"

Smurf asked as it went deafeningly quiet, his uncles turned to face him one by one. J wasn't sure why that tid-bit was so important, why Smurf would use that of all things to defuse the situation, but if it got Baz to back down and shut up, J was all for it. Pulling away and stepping back as Smurf's arms fell, J nodded.

"Yeah, it was one of the only things she would say when she got high."

Something heavy, poignant and stifling settled amongst them before Pope swore loudly, brushing off Smurf who went to reach for him before storming back through the back gate he had only recently entered. No one tried to stop him. Just as J went to walk away himself, perhaps head out on his bike and ride the anger out, clear his head with beach breeze and the sound of waves crashing, Smurf was holding the adoption agency card out to him.

"Either way baby, it's up to you. Do you want to get in contact?"

J looked at the card for a long while before he took it. He stared at it even longer when it was in his grasp, gazed at the number at the bottom, running the pad of his thumb over the digits. Glancing up, he saw Smurf's smile, Daren's curious stare, Craig's grin and Baz's stern mouth and slanted eyes. That was all he needed to see, that anger, as he delved his hand into his jeans back pocket, plucked out his phone and dialled the number on the card before holding the phone to his ear.

* * *

**PART TWO: THE CROCODILE:**

**Petunia's P.O.V**

**xXx**

Petunia Dursley hummed a cheery little tune to herself as she dipped her gloved hands into the suds, plucking up a plate to swish the sponge over. Life was going good. Vernon was at work until ten that night, Dudley was staying over at a friend's house and Petunia was having her own time, sipping on a glass of red between chores. However, the detail was in the fine print. Life _was_ going good. Brilliant even… Until, from behind her, she could hear the rattle of the back door jingle before the door slipped open, thudding as it shut behind whoever had just entered her home.

Her first thought was of her precious Vernon. Perhaps he had clocked off early and had thought to surprise her, even if he had not done so in years. Forgetting about the plate, happy at the sudden twist of events, Petunia dropped the sponge back into the sink, snapped the yellow gloves off her bony wrists and painted on, what she was sure, a dazzling smile. It all died terribly, irreversibly, when she saw who really was standing at the back door to their kitchen. Eleanora Potter, her _niece._

She had changed a lot in the year since Petunia had last saw her, when the Order, or whatever it was called now, had dragged Petunia's family from their home because of some perceived danger brought on by the girl standing before her. Nora, as she liked to be called, had grown a few inches, still short, but passed five feet now. She had filled out too, the masculine white shirt, jeans and leather jacket doing nothing to hide her blossoming womanhood. Her hair had become less frizzed birds' nest, but more rebellious tight curled silk, longer and shiny in its hot amber hue. She no longer looked like a preteen boy, all scuff kneed and bony, but like the young woman she was supposed to be. If it wasn't for the large scar on her forehead, those damned eyes of hers, Petunia would have passed her in the street without glancing back. Perhaps even thought her beautiful.

But she did see the scar and she did see the eyes and all her visage brought Petunia was pain. Pain and anger. Everyone who knew her sister, Lily, had always doted on the girl, telling Petunia she looked more and more like the woman each day. They were all blind. Blind, dumb fools. They only saw what they wanted to see, and they wanted Lily. Still, Petunia saw the truth, so open now that the young girl had grown into her features. Petunia saw the shade of her ginger hair, too hot, too bright to be Lily's spice kissed locks. Petunia saw Nora's green eyes, vivid and jewel toned, too dark to be Lily's light mint ones. Nora was too short and too curvy to match Lily's willowy grace. Her features were too fox-like, thin and delicately carven, but cold and keen, against Lily's elven elegance. Nora was just too intense, all bright colours and sharp lines to be anything like Lily's soft beauty. Oh, Petunia saw it all and Petunia _hated_ it all_. _

"I never thought I would see you again."

Petunia found herself saying. A part of her, a large part, wished she never would have to. The girl was a symbol of everything wrong in her life, every mistake, every loss. Nora, however, sent her a wry little smile, as sharp as any blade before she wandered over to her kitchen table, obnoxiously dragging a chair out to sit down upon, crossing her arms as she did so.

"I bet you didn't. What has it been since the Order came and hid you away? A year now? I see you know at least enough about the end of the war to come and live back in this place if you're willing to risk Dudley."

Nora Idly took a scan of the room with her large eyes, likely noting nothing had changed, just how Petunia liked it. Petunia wanted to hit the girl, slap her right up the side of her head, wrap her fingers tightly into that lion's mane she called hair and chuck her right out the door she came slithering in from. Instead, Petunia stood stock still, only able to watch as Nora pulled out a packet of cigarettes from her jean pockets, flicking one into her mouth and sparking it up with a zippo. Petunia's mouth opened to order her out of the house, to get that horrid smoke away, but there was something there, lurking in the back of Nora's glinting eyes, something dangerous. Petunia's mouth flopped for a moment before she finally found something to say.

"The Order said your life was in danger. They came back and said it was finished. I didn't see any reason to stall our lives any further because _you_ got yourself into some trouble."

Nora picked up on what wasn't said, she was always a smart girl, like she usually did. She laughed then, and it was deep and dry and more than a little sardonic.

"And you expected me to be dead? How lovely."

Petunia neither denied or accepted the accusation. So what if she had? So what, if after coming to that very conclusion, all she wanted was to get back to her life, to the way things should have been, just her, Vernon and her Dudley if the damned girl was never dumped on her doorstep? Was she such a monster because of it? Was she a monster because, deep down, in the very dark recesses of her soul, she had hoped, dreamed, the girl was, in fact, dead? All Nora brought was memories, secrets, lies Petunia wanted to forget, move on from and with her right there, in full view, that was the last thing Petunia could do. Petunia had taken the girl in, kept the secrets, kept the lies buried for sixteen years now. Hadn't she paid her due? Petunia squared her shoulders.

"What are you doing here? I want you to leave and don't you darken my doorstep again. You hear me?"

Nora took a deep drag from her smoke and shot Petunia a look that withered her shoulders to hunches, forced her eyes away and damped her own rage. However, when the girl spoke, it was calm, light, pleasant even.

"Don't worry, I'm not staying. I just want to talk."

Petunia shook her head. No. Talking was the last thing, especially with Nora, she wanted to do. Hastily, none too gently, she reached behind herself and undid her apron, shirking it off, carelessly throwing it down onto the counter besides herself.

"There is nothing to talk about."

Nora vanished her cig with a click of her fingers and Petunia flared at the display of magic, at the poignant, too easy reminder that this girl, this _thing_, wasn't one of them. She never was and she never could be, no matter how much they had tried to beat it out of her. Unperturbed by Petunia's rising anger, perhaps she had become used to it by now, after all these years, Nora delved a hand into her leather jackets pocket and slipped out an innocent looking envelope, seal already ragged and open, a thick wad of paper folded in side. Almost tauntingly, she waggled the envelope at Petunia.

"I got a letter this morning."

Petunia scoffed and crossed her own arms.

"Your business is your own. I don't want to know-"

"Am I adopted?"

Nora said it so plainly, so simply, innocent and light that it took a few moments for Petunia to register the heavy question. Yet, when her brain did catch up to her hears, Petunia froze. Entirely. No thought. No breath. Nothing. She was locked and stuck, face draining and fingers going numb. That man, the one with the pointy hat and long white beard flashed before her eyes… _The truth. It is a beautiful and terrible thing and should therefore be treated with caution. Don't you agree, Mrs Dursley?_... Her stomach flipped and contorted, bile rose and stung her throat and nose.

"Why would you say that?"

Was that her speaking? Was that terrified, cracked voice really hers? Yes. Yes, it was, and she already sounded halfway to hysterics, pitch high and cracking. Nora placed the letter onto the table she was sitting by, hand never fully drawing away from the wretched thing, nimble fingers toying with the furled edge.

"I told you, I got a letter this morning. It was an interesting letter. Do you know where it's from?"

Petunia's mouth clamped shut, lips curling in on themselves to stop the words, so many words, from spilling forth like a tidal wave. Nora saw her face, her stern, unforgiving mouth and eyes and she laughed. It was a horrid noise, too loud, too joyful, too… Much. The girl was always too much. Of everything. From the colours of her hair, skin and eyes, to the way she spoke and laughed, to the way she moved with her shoulders drawn back and chin tilted proudly. She was all fire and intensity and Petunia abhorred it. Detested _her_.

"I take the silence as a yes. You were always shit at lying."

Petunia snarled, teeth flashing from pale, tight lips. How dare she. How dare any of Nora's kind, coming into her home, demanding things of her that they had no right in commanding, telling her what to do, what she was. They were a conceited lot, every one of Nora's kind. But still, Petunia did not move, did not speak and did not try and leave. Nora was no longer that little girl, so small and hesitant, the skinny brat Petunia could chuck into the cupboard when her face made Petunia feel sick. Violently sick. Nora, after her laughter died down, plucked the envelope back up, slipped out the wad of folded papers, letters, stood from her chair and began advancing on Petunia.

"It's from a place called _Bay Area Adoption agencies. _It says I have a brother. A brother, a Joshua Cody, who wants to get in contact with me. As I've come to my sixteenth birthday, the decision falls to me rather than any guardian. When I first read it, I laughed. What a load of bullshit, right, _aunt _Petunia?"

The way Nora drew out the word aunt, twisting and elongating the vowels, made Petunia bite into her cheek until there was a sting and a hint of copper on her tongue. Petunia wasn't scared. She wasn't nervous. She wasn't even sorry. She was livid.

"I rang them up, of course. I told them, politely, they had made a mistake. I wasn't this Eleanora Cody, I was Eleanora _Potter. _Funny thing is, they were adamant that it was me, that the files all trace back to me. Now, I wasn't buying it. Not one bit, but hey, they weren't finished. They emailed me more documents. Birth records, hospital records, the adoption papers _signed _by Lily and James Potter themselves. I know because I matched their signatures to their marriage certificate at Godric Hollow. Now why would Lily and James sign adoption papers for their own child? Are you seeing my problem here?"

The slap of the stack of letters being slammed down upon the counter besides Petunia and Nora, who had come to a stop a mere foot away, made Petunia's hands clench into fists at her side. Yet, the girl wasn't done. Not nearly, going by the fire blazing in her eyes.

"The truth is, I have no where else to go. Everyone who was alive back then, Albus, Remus, Sirius, Severus, Tonks, you remember them don't you, Petunia? They're all _dead_. Anyone who could possibly know anything is buried six-feet under. You're the only one alive who can tell me what the hell is going on. I don't want to be here as much as you want me to be. So, tell me and I'll go, and I won't ever come back. Look me in the eye and say it's a lie. Tell me it's a bloody mistake. Tell me! Please…"

For just once, once in sixteen long years, Petunia felt a flash of something other than hatred or disgust towards the girl in front of her. She felt _sympathy. _Nora, standing there, eyes wide and pleading, the smell of whiskey and smoke coming off her breath telling of a day spent drinking her confusion away, the broken way she begged for Petunia to tell her what she wanted to hear, even if it was but a pretty lie, tugged on something in Petunia she thought the girl would never be able to touch. So, finally, Petunia spoke of things she never thought she would have to.

"He was a gorgeous boy."

Nora pulled her hand back from the papers, the limb dangling uselessly at her side as she frowned up at Petunia.

"Who?"

Petunia's eyes fled away from the girl, not able, especially now with this grim truth being wrought out of her, after so long at keeping it buried, to look at that face. If she did, the anger would come back and then Petunia would never get a chance to let it out again. Just this once, she could give the girl something… If only to get Nora out of her house and away. Pointlessly, Petunia looked down at the stack of letters, seeing Lily's hospital records from the 31st of July. What a terrible, terrible day.

"Harry. Harry Potter. That was going to be his name. Lily had named me godmother, you know?"

Nora stayed silent, letting Petunia pick up the letters and read them, just something to keep her hands busy, to stop them trembling.

"Oh, he was a gorgeous boy. Black haired, green-eyed… And so still. It broke my sister's heart. A still born, premature, too young and precious for this world."

Nora cut in.

"I don't understand."

The anger, the rage, the fire in the pit of Petunia's stomach thundered to vicious life as she was reminded of exactly who was standing in front of her, who she was speaking to. It wasn't Nora who was supposed to be standing there. It was supposed to be him. _Harry_. Her hands tightened so much that she nearly ripped the letters apart before Petunia threw them back onto the counter, whirling on the girl in a storm of fluttered skirts and clawed fingers pointing.

"Of course, you wouldn't! He paid me to keep hush, to keep you-… You wretched little thing, in my house! After all I gave you, everything, and you dare come in here _demanding_ things from me? Me?!"

Apparently, Petunia was not the only one to feel the anger bubbling beneath the surface. Nora broke and for the first time in Petunia's pleasant little life, she was _scared. _Nora's face turned still, calm, placid and then she was diving at Petunia, eyes alight and dangerous, roaring dreadfully as the girl snatched up Petunia's throat in a constricting hand, bent her cruelly over the counter, pushing her back, dragging the frail woman down, right to her own eye level, nose to nose as she spoke quietly, deadly, fingers tightening with each word until Petunia was forced to claw at the hand, eyes boggling.

"What did you give me Petunia? A locked cage? Broken bones? Bruises? Starvation? What exactly am I meant to be thankful for?! The blind eye you turned when Vernon lost his temper and beat me until I was unconscious? How you would laugh so prettily when Dudley hit me with a fucking baseball bat until my joints popped and dislocated? Oh yes, the brilliant fun of Nora-hunting! The times where you forgot to feed me for weeks, a six-year-old, so I had to rummage in the bin and eat half rotten scraps? The fucking bleach baths to help _clean_ my dirty heathen soul? What? Tell me what I am meant to be thankful for!"

Petunia choked, spittle dribbling down her gasping chin and her vision blurred, darkening before Nora growled and withdrew her hand from around Petunia's neck, stepping back to run a hand down her face, breath heavy and hot as Petunia scrabbled for the counter-tops edge, heaving in lungful's of air. Then she was rounding back on Petunia, bearing down upon her bent form.

"I'm not a little girl anymore Petunia. I'm not a defenceless child. You wouldn't dare hit me now. You're a fucking coward. You and your fat oaf of a husband and spoilt blubbering brat. No. So, you are going to stand there and tell me everything. _Everything._ Or I swear to Merlin, every hit, every slap, every broken bone and welt and cut will be repaid triple."

Petunia's eyes stung as tears misted her vision, still unsteady on her feet, heart thundering in her ribcage, mouth running with no real thought to what she was saying. It was like Nora had ripped her open, knocked down the dam and every secret, every repressed memory, every concealed word was yanked from her very soul.

"Lily was pregnant but had a miscarriage. He was a little boy, just a little boy. They called him Harry. It broke her heart and I told her to wait, another baby would come, but she wouldn't hear of it. James took her on vacation, for a year, over in America to help heal but-… I don't know. She came back and she had you in her arms. She went and adopted _you_ and then brought you back as if you were some prize, something that could replace the child she lost_. _She said it was destiny. That you needed a home and she needed a child. It was meant to be. She said you even looked like her. I don't see it. I just see a creature, a soulless beast who is here where Lily's child, her _real_ child, should be. You should be the one dead, not him. You tore my sister from me. All she could ever talk about was you. All she ever thought about was you. She forgot all about me as soon as she laid eyes on you. She forgot everything."

She was spitting now, her words coming fast and hard, tears falling down her cheeks, but Nora pressed on.

"Who paid you to keep this quiet?"

Petunia scoffed as her knees grew weak.

"That man, Albus, the one who dropped you off after James and Lily's murder. He said it was important for people to believe you were a Potter. He said their death would be meaningless if anybody found out the truth. He said he would get rid of the documentation, all I had to do was stick to the story and I would be paid handsomely for my trouble. Who was I going to tell? Her friends? I hated them, and they hated me!"

"Did anyone else know? Did Lily or James tell anyone? Were they there for the miscarriage? Remus? Sirius?"

Petunia violently shook her head.

"No. Just me and Vernon. Everyone else was busy with that Order business they whispered about. Lily wasn't allowed to join in while she was pregnant, she complained about it all the time, and James wouldn't leave his pregnant wife's side. So, she and James came to live with me and Vernon. They miscarried when they were here and sailed off to America just as fast. When they came back, they never brought it up and I didn't speak to their _friends. _Lily simply said you were her child and they all swallowed it down. By the time Lily came back from America, a year later, your age matched up with their real child's birth and no questions were asked. Albus simply asked me to keep my silence on the matter, as I had before when they came back, and I agreed. But I knew the truth! I knew! And I could never forget that you were just a plug, a mimic to replace their real child! You were just a fake! A lie they told themselves to ease the pain! You were _never _one of us!"

Silence, weighty, fell upon them as Petunia glared at the worthless girl her bright sister, Lily, had somehow ever thought she could love. When Nora spoke, Petunia was hit with a dose of nostalgia. She sounded so lost, so young, exactly as she did when she was six, when she would tug on Petunia's skirts and ask with gullible eyes if she could have some food.

"Why do you hate me? Why have you always hated me? I was just a child. All I ever wanted was just a touch of love, a kind word, just one hug…"

Petunia howled.

"Because it's your fault! If I hadn't of kept quiet about you when Lily came back saying you were their daughter, if I had have told them, their friends, the truth, that you were nothing but a stranger, an adopted freak, my sister would still be alive! That man killed her because he thought she had birthed a child! That she had you! I lied, and my sister died…"

Petunia couldn't speak anymore as she shattered, sobbing and snivelling as her knees gave out and she crashed to the linoleum of the kitchen with a thud, curling in on herself, wrapping her arms around her torso to try and fruitlessly hold herself together. There it was. The truth. So long had she run from it, hid from it, blamed everything and anyone and anything she could, but there it was. _It was her fault Lily was dead. _If she had of just told someone, even that dog Sirius Black that James brought around to visit, that Eleanora was adopted, her sister would still be here, could still laugh and joke and primly correct Petunia on every little mistake she made.

"It wasn't your fault. Tom-"

Nora said gently as she cautiously stepped closer. Petunia snapped out of it. No. It wasn't her fault. Not at all. It was this girls' fault that her sister was dead. It always had been. Petunia went to swipe at her with an arching swing, but Nora doubled back, skidding into the counter behind her, barely getting away in time.

"Just get out! Go back to whatever pit Lily dragged you from! Get out and don't ever come back!"

It had to be Nora's fault, all of it, otherwise it was Petunia's and she couldn't live with the shame, the guilt of having her sister's death on her shoulders, of letting the girl live a life of lies just for some money. Someone had to be blamed. They just had to. Petunia couldn't handle that responsibility and so, she let it fall to the only other person it could, the only other person still around, alive, from the whole mess. Eleanora.

From the corner of her eye, she watched as Nora stared down at her before walking over to the other counter, picking up the letters and documents, cramming them into her leather jackets pocket. Petunia turned away. She couldn't look at that… That _thing _anymore as the patter of boot clad feet rang out followed by the low sound of the backdoor opening and tapping closed. So, Nora left her there, crumpled on the floor, sobbing, in the very same spot Petunia had crumbled in when news of her sister's death reached her. Nevertheless, by the next morning, Petunia Dursley was back to her old self. Floral printed dress freshly ironed, pearls glimmering around her neck, smile bright and wide as she kissed her husband on the cheek while standing in the driveway, handing him his packed lunch and briefcase before waving him off to work.

Nora, well, after a rather heavy night of drinking where she awoke, dry mouthed and in yesterdays clothing, on the stairs of Grimmauld place, after a quick shower and the hair of the dog to wash down the headache, spent most of her morning at the kitchen counter, eyeing up the stack of letters, in her hands she fiddled with a small black phone she had picked up cheap from a muggle store. With a derivative snort at her own hesitancy, Eleanora hastily jammed in the number written on the letter, squared her shoulders, and hit ring. It only took three chimes before a pleasant male voice answered, even if he did seem a bit nervous.

"Hello?"

"Hey, um... this is Eleanora.I-... Uh, I don't know if you know me, but I was sent your number. I'm looking for-"

"Joshua? That's... That's me. I'm J..."

Eleanora's laughter was met with another's through the gentle crackle of the line.

* * *

IMPORTANT NOTES ON THIS STORY:

_WARNING__: _This fic contains an explicit relationship between an uncle and niece (FemHarry's pairing), a brother and sister and a child birthed from incestuous relations. In no way, shape or form do I condone incest. I want that clear. However, the psychology behind it is fascinating and the topic is rich to explore through writing, which is what I'm going to try and do, as tasteful as possible, with both the highs and lows, in this fic. This, I understand, will be triggering to some and so I have tried to label this fic as clear as possible so anyone who could be triggered by such a thing has time to turn away. However, if you've watched the show, then you've likely too picked up the very incestuous vibes the Cody family, especially Smurf, exhibits. It's this behaviour I want to explore in this fic. Please take this as fair warning because this fic will be diving into some very murky, very taboo topics. For a full warning list, because this fic does get dark, please see the bottom of this authors note.

This is set at the end of season one of Animal Kingdom, but before season two. I highly recommend that you watch the show before reading this fic because, well, it would make all this garbled mess a lot easier to understand and, Animal Kingdom is a kickass show. That being said, there will be Nora P. (FemHarry in this fic), that should, for those who don't watch the show, help explain things and go over what takes place before and during the T.V show.

If you're a stickler for Canon Harry Potter, I'm afraid you're not going to like this fic much as I do mess around, quite heavily, with canon. Then again, if I wasn't, I wouldn't be writing fanfiction and if you really minded, stick to reading the Harry Potter books lol.

_**WARNING TAGS: Drug use. Alcohol consumption (By minor's, depending where you live; looking at you USA **__**). Sex. Criminal activity. Robbery. Shootings. Incest. Age gap between main couple. Violence. Murder. Personality disorders (Pope). Mentions of Prostitution, abuse, neglect, domestic violence, child abuse, child neglect. Vengeance. Blood. Gore. **_

If none of this has made you close this tab already, go and wash your eyes out with bleach and gargle salt water, welcome aboard this train of absolute anarchy! If you'd like to see more, please drop a review.

**IMPORTANT NOTE:** This is a rewrite of a previously posted story (Of the same name) that I deleted after three chapters because I had wrote myself into a corner and lost all inspiration for it. However, due to the kind words and lovely messages, I've decided to try this story once more with a tweak here and there. So, here is the beginning, which is much the same, if you've read this previously, but the meeting between the Cody's and Eleanora is going to go down completely different, and I really hope you will like what I have planned to come!


	2. Chapter 2

**PART THREE: THE FOX**

**Nicky's P.O.V**

**xXx**

The line of coke Nicky Belmont had recently snorted made her head swim with an alarming haze. Unquestionably, that could have been the blunt she was diligently puffing on, or the half empty bottle of beer still clutched in her hand, but she was at least aware enough to know it was one of those three things that had momentarily span her world off its axis. But what a glorious tail spin into destruction and chaotic beauty it was. Every nerve firing in all directions, every hair on stand, colours vivid and flashing, and god, she had never felt so alive!

Or, perhaps, it was the bright afternoon sun, the sound of music blaring out from stereo by the back-garden door, or maybe, just maybe, it was Craig's hands gently stroking her waist. All Nicky truly knew was she felt _Good. _Better than good. High, and flying, and lofty, as light as breath and as bright as a star and her favourite song was making the air move in such a wonderful way…

"I think that's enough for you."

Craig said as he seized what was left of her beer, swirling the brown liquid around in the glass bottle, before he downed it, plucking the half smoked joint from her lax fingers, the tip flaring a bright orange as he inhaled. Nicky only giggled as she flopped back into the cushioned deck chair, eyes trailing to the large pool, watching the water glisten as the sunbeams danced across its rippling face. She felt as if she was made up of that very shine herself, sparkling and blinding. Deran, Craig's brother, was sitting on the diving board, dressed only in his swim shorts, hair still wet from his early morning surf, feet soaking in the blue, as he too took a drag from a joint. Everything was bright, everything was peaceful, everything was perfect. And then the patio doors slid open.

"Yeah, I know the place."

J came tumbling out from the house, kicking on his shoes as he pressed his cell phone to his ear by a raised shoulder. For a split moment, Nicky thought of getting up, going over, flinging her arms around him, pressing against him like she used to, skin to skin, sweat to sweat. Perhaps they would dance and twirl, she felt like she was spinning already, and she would laugh, and J would smile, and he would lift her up and the wind would blow her away and-

But then she saw him smile and something deep inside her sternum twanged at the sight. J was never one for smiling, not really, neither did he laugh much. However, when he did, it was a sharp thing, lively, ever so cutting, and warm. He used to smile at her that way, before… Before she started sleeping with his uncle behind his back. She had not seen that smile in such a long time, she had almost forgotten what it looked like. Now he was smiling freely, that same quick keen smile she had adored, at whoever was speaking on the other side of the phone and, yes, Nicky belatedly realised, she felt a little jealous when that smile was accompanied with a bout of raspy laughter.

"Well, if you get lost, honk like an owl and I'll find you… No, the beach isn't… What lighthouse?... Jesus, you're on the opposite side… No… Hahaha… Are you sure you don't just want to meet at the airpo-… Yes, that's the place, by the pier… Yeah, with the rock pools… Stay by the sign, I'll be there in twenty… Yeah, yeah… See you soon, bye."

With a quick jab of his thumb, the phone call was over, and yet… Yet J was still smiling. Finally managing to slip his sneakers on, J was heading towards the back gate with swift, sure strides. As he passed, Nicky tried to smile at him, grin as she once did, but he didn't even look her way. She wasn't feeling so light anymore, nor so bright. Instead she felt a little twisted, like a knot in a tree, all gnarled bark and crystalizing tree sap. So, she shouted at his retreating back.

"Hey, want to have a beer with us?"

J stopped and, as he often did, shoved his hands in the pocket of his hoody. He never turned to face her, and that twang in her chest became an ache. Perhaps it was the coke. Perhaps it was the weed. Perhaps it was the beer. It had to be something; Nicky wasn't used to feeling like this. As much as J wished she didn't, Nicky knew him. She _knew _him. He wrinkled his nose when he found something distasteful. He ran a hand through his hair when he was stressed. He looked to the floor when someone asked a question he didn't want to answer. And he was quick, intelligent, fast, like a fox, all wily eye and cunning tongue, and once upon a time, he used to be _hers_. Sometimes, very rarely, when she wasn't high, or stoned, or drunk, she still sort of wished he was. J was funny, kind, loving. But he was too much of that.

Nicky wanted adrenalin. She wanted risk. She wanted danger. She wanted the wolf, not the woodcutter. Or was it a lumberjack? What did it matter? She wasn't little red riding hood, she was the golden goose, the glittering egg with eternity in its yolk. She wanted, and wanted, and wanted, and dammit, she got it. She got what she wanted, and she always wanted more. This time, however, she didn't get what she wanted as J answered in a tight, clipped tone, any sign of that previous warmth lost and dead, ash in the air, polluting and suffocating.

"Can't. I'm busy."

Nicky sat up, slipping out of Craig's hold just a fraction.

"Oh, yeah? Who was that on the phone? Anybody I know? Any parties from school happening?"

Obviously, Nicky would know that already, if she had bothered to be in school for the last three weeks. Yet, school wasn't what she wanted. She wanted the coke that made her feel like she was made from fireworks. She wanted to bathe in the sun until her skin felt like it was brushed in gold. She wanted the groans and squeaks of a bed rocking, the light dark and dim, with Craig murmuring in her ear. But she also wanted J to look at her, really look at her, and smile, and talk, like they used to. And why couldn't she have both? Why was that wrong? J gave a noncommittal shrug of his shoulders.

"You wouldn't know her. She's my… Friend."

At last, J turned around, but, again, it wasn't to her. It never was lately. He looked at Deran, his eyes flickered to Craig, but they said nothing, did nothing. Deran was busy on his own phone and Craig was reclining beside her, smoking as he looked up to the sky, as if they didn't see the glint in J's eye, didn't hear the way he said _friend_, as if they didn't hear or see him at all, lost in their own worlds. But Nicky heard, and she saw, and suddenly, she was angry. Who was this she? A girlfriend? Had he really moved on so fast from her? Before she could say anything, Craig was cutting in, dashing the butt of the joint in the empty beer bottle by their side.

"Well, be back in time for dinner. Smurf wants a chat with us."

J gave a stiff nod and then he was gone, slinking out the back gate. Nicky flopped back into the deck chair, using Craig's bare arm as a pillow. Craig began to fiddle with her long brown hair, twisting it around his fingers, tugging playfully, as he watched the small clouds drift on by, and with the sun shining just right, the high of the coke slowly coming down, the anger fled. Still, the caution and curiosity remained.

Something was going on, Nicky knew it. Over the last two weeks, the few times Nicky had spotted J loitering around the house, he had been on the phone, chatting away, as if that wasn't odd enough, he was laughing and smiling and easy, too easy. J had never been easy with her. Before, she would notice him looking at her, watching sometimes, as she giggled and messed around with Craig, and now it was like she didn't even exist. It was a frigid, acidic sort of comprehension to come to. Normally, another bump would have wiped away any sort of unwanted feelings, replace them with that sparking euphoria, but, well, the stash was out, and Craig wouldn't be getting more until later. Rolling slightly to press against the long side of Craig, Nicky curled around him, grinning.

"Who was J talking to?"

Craig scoffed up at the big blue sky.

"How the hell am I meant to know?"

Nicky's gaze flickered to Deran, his golden hair shining, and she found him already looking at her, something unreadable in his green gaze. Still, he sounded friendly enough as he spoke, and Nicky was never one to dig deeper under the surface.

"Don't look at me. I don't have a clue."

Deran heaved himself off the jumping board, bare feet padding against slick, white stone as he made his way around the pool and into the house without any further word. In the end, Nicky shrugged it away, the high singing in her blood pulling her back under, and cuddled deeper into Craig's side.

* * *

**PART FOUR: THE LION.**

**J's P.O.V**

**xXx**

"Eleanora?"

J asked, almost timidly. She was sitting where she said she would be, right underneath the pier sign by the rock pools on the beach, facing the sea with her back to his face, no one else around, and still, he found himself needing to ask, unsure whether this was really happening, if she was really _here_. Of course, since that first phone call nearly three weeks ago, they had spoken regularly, daily virtually, but it still seemed so surreal to have her sitting right in front of him when, barely a while ago, she had seemed so very, very far away. A memory lost to time.

When Eleanora had asked if she could visit him just last week, he had been sure, so fucking certain, something would go wrong. Her flight would be cancelled. Something would come up. Family business would pull him away. Anything and everything, and yet, here she was, and still, he was sure this had to be the wrong person, an accidental misidentification, a little break taken at the wrong place at the wrong time because… Well, nothing ever really went right in J's life.

The woman's head slowly turned around, the hot sun painting her with a golden halo, as she brushed her hands off from the sand and came to a stand, swivelling to face him, and finally, J got a good look at her. She was dressed casually, just barely on the right side of lazy, in a set of torn light washed denim shorts, holey and ripped at the thigh, with a high necked white crop top, scarcely showing a sliver of taunt stomach, all of which was draped in a faded unbuttoned blue flannel, three sizes too big, one sleeve having fallen down, leaving ivory shoulder open and bare, frayed cuffs rolled to elbow, and there, on her shuffling feet, was a pair of bleached tennis shoes. It was an odd assortment of clothes, some of it old, none of it matching, some a little battered, and yet, she made it work somehow.

And just like her clothes, her features were an odd match, and yet, seamless. Her flaming red hair, a bursting mane of curls and coils, exploded down around her, the soft breeze catching the rebellious locks at her waist. Those, if ever, were Pope's curls, and although he was dark auburn, she had likely inherited the ginger gene from their mother's twin. Her features were sleek but sharp, all feline refinement, brows arching high, a strange gnarly scar splitting one in two, raising up through her forehead, nearly touching base in her hairline, nose sloping elegantly, cheekbones cutting with a delicate jaw, lips full, but all softened to fairy like mischief with the splattering of taupe freckles mapping across her pale skin. And her eyes… J had never seen such green eyes before, though Deran shared the same shade, if not the brilliant lustre. Not even her strange glasses, big and round with silver frames, could hide or dampen them.

Red, green, white, she was a clash of colour, a burst of light, summer wrapped in skin and flesh with gold dusted right on top. And all J saw, really saw, was the gummy smile of a green-eyed ginger baby looking up at him as it dribbled and cooed. J had not remembered that before, had only his photos to fall back on, and even now, he was not completely convinced the little flash of an image flaring on the back of his eyelids was a memory at all. Yet he saw it all the same, he remembered it, and, most importantly, he _felt _it. Especially when the woman in front of him smiled widely, flushing pink, chin tilting proudly, and with that hair, she was almost, somehow, both this woman, a lion cast in amber and jade, as well as the baby he had always pictured her to be.

"Just Nora. I'm guessing you're Joshua?"

Nora had a thick English accent, voice huskier than he first thought it would be, but there, lurking between her words, was a soft lilt of a Scottish roll that had not translated well over the phone calls. It gave her a natural joviality. There were many things to say and ask in that moment, too many, in fact. How was your flight? Where have you been? Are you okay? Has life treated you well? Who adopted you? Where did you grow up? Did she, perhaps, remember him? Their mum? Even just a little? Perhaps a smell, or a noise, or a certain colour? Instead of asking any of this, or welcoming her, J found himself parroting her back.

"Just J, actually."

J winced, and he could see Nora's smile fracture just a little bit, a tiny tremble to her bottom lip that spoke of her valiantly trying to hold it in place. The air, as it often was, was hot, but it also felt heavy, solid, oppressive. J had never been a very social individual. He was too blunt, too serious, and frankly, people didn't often interest him enough to warrant the effort or energy needed to navigate social necessities. Still, he had never thought it to be much of a problem before. Until now, when everything felt tight, hefty, so fucking unsure and unsteady. Nora's grin flashed brighter, and idly, J noted that she also had Pope's dimples.

"No offence, but I was expecting someone taller."

J cocked a brow, deliberately scanning her from head to toe with a slow, sweeping gaze.

"Really? Coming from someone your size?"

The bubble of hesitant strain burst like a balloon being stomped on as the two laughed. Before J knew it, they were meeting in the middle, smashing like a tide on a rocky shore, hugging. Nora smelled like coffee, candy, the cheap kind packed full of sugar, with a freshness that reminded J of the air right after a thunder storm. It reminded him of home. Not Smurf's place, nor the tiny apartment their jacked mother had died in, no corporeal place on earth. It was that feeling, of smiles and sunshine, back when Julia had tried, back when he was innocent and young, carefree, and Nora, sitting in these very sands, with chocolate smeared across her babbling mouth, used to giggle at the faces he pulled. J embraced her harder, her wild hair tickling his chin as he rested it on the crown of her head.

"It's good to see you again."

Nora hugged back just as hard, and despite being tiny, delicate looking even, she had some fucking strength in her.

"You too… You too."

Nora whispered over his shoulder, where her face barely met, voice feathery but potent, punctuating it with a sound clap on the back. J had been unsure about all this. Getting in touch with the adoption agency, the phone calls, the steadfast _yes_ he had given before she had even finished her sentence when she had asked to visit, all of it. And why wouldn't he be? So much time had passed, they were practically strangers, he was no longer a naive little child, so many things could go wrong… But god fucking dammit, this was his sister, his little sister, and it felt right. It _was _right.

Eventually, they pulled apart and Nora, unceremoniously, dropped back down into the sand, kicking up a little dust cloud, as she patted the empty space beside her. J lowered himself down, both turning to face the great sea before them, elbows resting on bent knees. This time, the chatter came easy, fluent and sure.

"So, how long are you staying?"

Nora gave a little shrug.

"For a while. I've rented one of those little beach huts out on the ocean front. I've never been to America before, so I thought I might as well enjoy the ocean and sun as much as I can. Do you live around here?"

J jerked his head off to the side.

"Yeah, just up the hill and down fifth avenue. You can't miss the place, it's at the very top."

Nora dragged her gaze away from the sea, a bunch of surfers bobbing along a cresting wave nothing but shadowed dots from this far back. Frivolously, J tried to count them.

"Do you still live with mum and dad?"

J froze.

"I… Nora, mum… Mum is dead."

J had meant to tell her, he really had. Yet, while they talked a lot over the phone daily, the conversations had always been light, a little shallow, full of how's your day been and up to much's, and it had never felt like the right time to just blurt it out. Nora had never asked before either, possibly, like him, wanting to keep the conversations cheerful and carefree, especially when they were only just getting to know each other again, not quite ready to tackle the hundred and one heavy questions precariously dangling over their heads, perhaps a little afraid of the answers, and J had never pushed or tried to steer the conversation into murkier or deeper depths.

"Shit… Sorry, I didn't think. I just-"

J cut her off sharply.

"No, no. It's fine. You have nothing to apologize for. I wanted to tell you, I really did, but it just didn't seem right to do so over the phone, and then you said you could visit, and, well, I thought it was better to tell you face to face."

Silence fell upon them, resolute, and J wondered how Nora was feeling. Maybe she had always suspected this was the case, or maybe, because the contact letter had only mentioned his name, she had thought their mother wanted nothing to do with her, Julia had given her up after all, or maybe, just maybe, in this messed up situation, like him, she didn't know how the fuck to go about things and was just trying to wing it, hoping for the best. After all, it wasn't everyday you discovered you were adopted with a whole other family out there. Did she even know their mother was called Julia? Did she know about her uncles? Her grandmother?

No. She was here now, right now, and they had time, and J would tell her all of it, the good and the bad, show her if she wanted. There was no need to rush. Easy baby steps. That was the way to do it. Like breathing. In. Out. Easy. Nora opened her mouth once, closed it, twice, closed it, before she was drifting back to the sea, nibbling on her lip. Finally, Nora broke the deafening silence.

"How did-… How did she die?"

J scratched the back of his head.

"Mum was an addict. She, uh… She overdosed."

Nora nodded slowly, sluggishly, processing that glorious little tid-bit of information. J wished he had a better story to tell, perhaps of a medic saving some one's life with unforeseen consequences, or a tragic car crash, but, well, the truth was what it always was, brutal and harsh and never anything like a story. Oh, J knew Julia had loved them, in some form or shape, she had loved them deeply. Nevertheless, Julia had loved heroin just that inch more and it had cost them, her children, everything. A real family. A real home. A happy childhood.

They couldn't get most of that back, J would never forget some of the fucked up shit he had seen, or had to do, and god knows what Nora's life had been like, you didn't get scars like the one on her forehead from fucking accidents, and, once again, J felt the love he felt for his mother, the love all children had, battling viciously with that bitter hatred of what her greed had snatched from them. But it wasn't too late, it never was, to at least try and build something in the ashes and ruins their mother created. Perhaps, in death, their mother could give them something she had denied them in life, a chance. Just a chance. One chance at something others took for granted, what his uncles had, what he had always wanted. Family.

"And our dad?"

J's eyes fell to the golden sand, voice taut. No, life was never anything like the great stories.

"I never knew my dad, and I don't remember yours. I'm… I'm sorry. I have a photo, if you want it? She was called Julia."

The implication was clear. The distinct separation of his and her dad, the already passed knowledge that their mother was a junkie, well, it didn't take a rocket scientist to put two and two together and get four. Once again, he wished he had something better to give her, to welcome her with, but this is what they had. A dead junkie mother, two different fathers god knows where, though J thought he knew exactly where his was, and a measly few photos he had managed to scavenge. To be honest, he wouldn't blame Nora if she got up right this second and just walked away. Some days, that was all J himself wanted to do.

Digging into his pocket, J pulled free the photo, holding it out for Nora to take. It was an old one, curled and cracked around the edges, and it wasn't the clearest of photos, whoever had taken it might have been laughing or moving as the colours smudged and blurred just a fraction, but there Julia was, smiling, clean and sober, the sole reason he had chosen this photo out of the others, because it showed their mum in one of her rare good moments. Gingerly, Nora took it.

"Julia? Julia."

She tested out the name as she gently fingered the old photo, softly running a thumb over the woman's face. She stared down at it for a long while, and J couldn't even begin to imagine what she was thinking or feeling. Happy? Bitter? Resentful? Confused? Finally, she lowered the photo and smiled at him. It wasn't as bright as before, nor as warm, but it was something. Something soft, and gentle, and hopeful.

"She had a nice smile."

J grinned as he nodded.

"She did."

Her hand fell to the sand between them, though she did not let go of the photo.

"Just us two then, aye?"

J noticed how her hand had tightened into a little fist.

"Yeah, just us two."

Unhurriedly, J reached down and placed his own hand over her fisted one, the picture of their smiling mother half hidden beneath fingers and palms. He squeezed and she squeezed back. He felt something raised on the back of her hand, and cautiously, pulled his own away. There, white and old, was another scar… A set of words. _I must not-_ She must have seen him looking, as her hand fled back to her body, taking the photo with it, seeking shelter in the pocket of her flannel shirt, concealed and safe, before J could finish reading what the scar said.

Bile lapped at his throat. She had been holding the photo in that hand, her left, and from what he had seen, she was left handed, meaning the words, carved and scarred, must have came from someone else. That was when he clocked it, on her other arm, on the raised forearm resting on bent knee, was another scar, like a star burst, round and fat, as if her arm had been stabbed with a fucking rail road spike. He diverted his gaze immediately, hoping she wouldn't know that he saw that one like the one on her hand. As he did so, he saw another, cracked and splintering, over and down her shoulder, disappearing into high neckline. J forced a smile, keeping his voice even, lax, mild.

"What about your adopted parents, are they here too?"

Nora grimaced.

"Uh, no. My mum-… Lily… They died when I was a year old. They left me a huge trust fund though, so, not all's bad."

Nora tried to joke with a tight, dry chuckle, but it fell flat and dead between them like roadkill left out in the Californian summer. J blinked, and no matter how hard he tried, dread set into him like redwood roots.

"What about your guardians? Have they come?"

If Nora's adopted parents died when she was only a year old, she must have been given to someone, a guardian, an orphanage, someone to make sure she was okay and grew up healthy. He was reading too much into it. The scars could be anything. A car accident. A sport gone wrong. A fall. Yet, didn't that sound just as before? Like a story? Too nice, too clean, too… _Happy. _Like J had let Nora's joke die, Nora killed the story J was painting in his head.

"No. They were… I've been emancipated since I was thirteen. So… Just me."

J flinched. From someone who knew deeply how child services worked, they had visited their mother often enough after all, J knew exactly what emancipation meant. Even after seeing the state of his mother, catching her shooting up once or twice, the most child services had done for him and Julia was to put him in residential care while his mother was forced into rehab. They had once threatened to give him to Julia's mother, but had never followed through, and not once, not fucking once, had they ever mentioned emancipation.

To get emancipated, and he highly doubted England was much different to America, there had to be sufficient, almost dire, reasoning for the child to be given legal adult status, as well as their being no one else suitable available for the child to live with. He also wasn't blind, he saw the scars, the few on show, the way Nora rolled her jaw on the word emancipation, as if it tasted foul, and the way she wouldn't rightly meet his eye when she spoke. It seemed like both of them had childhoods better yet not spoken or thought of.

"Sorry to disappoint you, but it's just my ugly mug you have to put up with."

Nora tried to joke again, diverting from the heavy, dark topic with a little jostle to his shoulder to try and lighten the stagnant mood. Knowing it was better not to push, perhaps one day they would talk of it, J went along with the switch, nudging her back.

"I think I may be able to do that if I have enough beer."

She laughed, and it was back to that loud star bright warmth.

"Cheeky bastard."

Grasping into her short pockets, she pulled free a half-crumpled carton of smokes. Flicking the lid, she bounced the bottom off her thigh to knock a cigarette free, offering it out to him. J took it as she flicked another free before crushing the carton back into her pocket, plucking out an old zippo, a chrome little thing, battered, with a black paw print and the word _Sirius_ inscribed on the flat side, from her flannel. She lit up, offered that out to him too, but J already had his own lighter out. With a clang of the lid flipping shut, she fiddled with the lighter, words dancing with the cloud of smoke trailing from her lips.

"So, you're on your own too?"

J took a long drag.

"No, I live with our grandmother and uncles."

Staring out to sea, noticing the surfers were long gone, from the corner of his eye, he saw Nora smirk at him.

"They don't know I'm here, do they?"

It seemed his little sister was as perceptive as he was. When she had first rang, J had been on his way to school, and he had planned to tell Smurf and the Cody's Nora had been in touch when he made it home. The problem was, when they finally settled down for dinner, nothing had come out. He had thought that a few private phone calls, just so he and his sister could get to know each other, before he told them couldn't possibly hurt. But a few turned into a week, and a week into nearly a month. J soon realised why he was so hesitant. For once he wanted to be selfish.

Baz, Pope, Craig, Deran all had each other, and they all had Smurf, and Smurf had all her boys. As much as J was a Cody, family was family, he was still, at the moment, very much outside the box. Even Nicky, his own fucking girlfriend, had deserted him for his uncle when offered a bit of coke. So, was it really that bad that he wanted it to just be him and his sister for a bit? He wasn't planning on keeping them in the dark forever, in fact, J didn't think he could even if he wanted to.

Baz, Craig and Deran had asked about the contact letter and if he had heard back every now and again, but it was rare and often asked only as an afterthought. Smurf, however, had been asking every damned day. In the morning when he woke up, and at night before he headed in to crash and sleep, she would ask. Obviously, J had taken to lying over the last few weeks, but he couldn't bring himself to feel too bad about it. How many secrets were they, particularly Smurf, keeping from him? And yes, perhaps he felt a bit victorious on getting one over them instead of the other way around, but again, who could blame him? And this secret wasn't likely to end with one of them in jail or with a bullet in their skull.

Oddly, however, it had been Pope who had proven to be the worst, after he eventually came back after storming off when he first learned about the whole adoption. It was always the first thing he asked when he saw J, _heard back yet?,_ and more than once, he had urged J to tell him if J heard anything, anything at all, as soon as J did. Fucking hell, the man had even nabbed one of J's precious few photos of his baby sister when J had been out of the house. And J knew it was him, because he had spotted Pope opening his wallet a fortnight ago, and low and behold, crammed into the plastic card-holder was the damned photo J had searched his room for. God fucking knew why Pope was so hung up on the issue, J didn't think even Pope knew why, but he was, and it was getting harder to dodge or rebuff his questions without outing himself. Pope was a perceptive fucker.

"I was going to tell them, but I-… It's… They…"

J sheepishly replied, stumbling like a fool, rubbing at the back of his neck. Nora, however, only grinned as she waved her hand flippantly.

"It's fine, honestly. Perhaps it's for the best. Too much, too soon, all that jazz."

With a closing drag, rolling the smoke up and through her nostrils, Nora flicked the butt down the beach as J dashed his own off to his side.

"Did you always know you were adopted?"

Nora kicked her legs out, balancing on her arms outstretched at her back, head up and facing the sky and blew the smoke she had held in her lungs upwards, so it could float up and join the clouds.

"No. The contact letter was the first I heard of it. You should have seen Petunia's face when I-"

She cut herself off, jaw clamping shut tightly, biting off whatever was about to break free as her stare fell back to him and away from the vast azure heavens.

"Well, it came as a bit of a shock."

"Do you regret it?"

J couldn't stop the hint of vulnerability from seeping into his voice. Having met him, seen him, did she wish she never left England? Did she wish he was someone else, with a better past, a better story to give? Did she wish this had never happened? But then she was looking at him, really looking at him with those intense summer grass eyes, and she was smiling, the kind of grin that made her nose wrinkle and her eyes crinkle, dimples deep set and freckles jolly.

"I always wanted an older brother to annoy. You'll fit the bill."

J was beginning to think he was getting a grip with Nora, on who she was as a person. Somehow, even with the heaviest of topics, or the darkest of memories, or the toughest of question, she, one way or another, managed to lighten the grim and gloom with a smile, an idle little joke, a quip or a chuckle. She pulled you in as if she had her own gravitational pull, with her laidback charm, and made everything seem like it was going to be okay. This, meeting your sibling for the first time since you or the other was put up for adoption, was never going to be an easy task, neither would it not be awkward or pensful, a bit sore, but she smoothed it out as much as possible, and for that, J was grateful.

"I'm glad I meet your high expectations."

Nora chuckled and the two fell into amiable silence as they dug their feet and hands into heated sand, watched a cloud or two float by. Every now and again, they would make a remark, ask a question, joke about a few drunken teens stumbling passed, or laugh at a surfer who had taken a header from a wave, but other than that, they were happy to just sit there, in the sun, together. Before either of them really knew it, the sun was beginning to set. As the sky was cast in expanding shades of orange and pink, Nora reached to the waist line of her shorts, and from her belt at the side of her hip, Nora pulled free what looked like, to J, to be a carved stick of some kind. Thin, long, it had little knots in it, pitted balls leading up to the end, a little space near the base wrapped in what could have been ivory, odd symbols carved on the yellowed face. It must have been one of the hair chopsticks some girls wore, J thought.

"Did mum have one of these? Or anybody in our family? Not exactly like this, but similar?"

J hummed and shook his head.

"Um, no. No, they don't. Did the adoption agency say they did?"

As quickly as it came, Nora was jamming the thing back through her shorts belt loop, pinning it in place at her side, flicking her flannel back over to cover the strange stick.

"No, no, no, It's just… Never mind. It's not important."

Maybe Nora had always had it, whatever it was, and had thought it might have come from her real mum. Just as J was about to say he had some of their mum's things, some little trinkets, as poor as they were, that she could take and keep, his phone buzzed from his pocket. All thoughts of sticks, heirlooms and strange trinkets fled him as he pulled it free, screen lit up with three messages from Baz. J quickly scrolled through them. Fuck. They were wondering where he was, dinner was due and Smurf wanted to talk, and asking for him to get back there as soon as he could. J tensed and Nora spoke up from his side.

"Do you have to go? We can always meet back up when you're free. I'm not planning on leaving anytime soon, so don't stay if you-"

"No. Nothing like that. I've got nowhere better to be."

_Can't make it. Busy. Be back later. _

Was the short, crisp reply J shot off to Baz. If Craig, Deran and Baz could get away with ditching meetings whenever they felt like it, J missing just one wouldn't hurt. It wasn't like it was going to be about another job, they were still waiting for the heat of the Pendleton heist to simmer down before attempting anything else. Plus, they would just fill him in later, he was sure. And if worst came to worst, he would just tell Smurf he was partying. She was always telling him to go out and act like the teenager he was. Well… Here he was.

"Then, do you want to head back to mine? Order in some take-out, maybe watch a movie or two while we catch up? You can crash at mine and head out in the morning? I mean, if you want to. You don't have to if you need to get back and-"

"I'd love to."

_Scrap that, staying at a friend's. Won't be back till morning. Don't wait up. _

Was the final message he sent before he stubbornly switched his phone off. Nora stood up, dusting herself off as she smiled at him, and J smiled back and for once in a very, very, very long time, it came to him easy. J followed her as they began to trek back to the main road just off the beach.

"Chinese or Mexican?"

Nora asked as they stalled next to a motorbike, a beast of a machine with shiny chrome finish, a Triumph 650 if J wasn't mistaken by the large headlight taking centre stage upfront. It was the kind of bike Craig would get in a fucking tizzy about. To be honest, J wouldn't have blamed him, it was a beautiful beast indeed.

"There's a good Mexican place just around the corner. I'll show you it."

It must have been Nora's, as she pulled out a set of keys from her pocket and straddled the bike. Jarringly, J wondered if someone so small could handle a bike like that, but Nora was already settling in, turning the key so the engine purred, and, really, she looked right at home on the big beast.

"You know, I've never had Mexican before."

Reaching down to the side of the bike, Nora unchained the helmet and swiftly chucked it at him. He caught it just an inch before it would have bounced right off his chest.

"No shit? Get out of here."

"I really haven't. We don't really have Mexican take out in England. Although, we do a smashing pork pie and crumpet."

"What the fuck is a crumpet?"

Nora's head snapped around so fast he thought she might have given herself whiplash.

"Now it's you who needs to get the fuck out of here. You don't know what a bloody crumpet is? Really? Jesus H Christ kid, am I going to blow your fuckin' mind. Forget the take-out, we'll stop at the grocery store and I'll show you some real food."

J's head cocked to the side, like a curious puppy.

"You're good at cooking?"

Nora scoffed, but there was no true heat behind it.

"Good? Are you trying to insult me? I'm a work of art in the kitchen. You?"

Their joking banter was a way for them to connect, to get to know each other, without the tension or awkwardness strangling at them, and once again, J was thankful for Nora's seemingly outgoing cheery personality.

"More of a baker, myself."

"I'll cook, you bake desert. Sound good?"

J nodded. It did sound good. Better than good.

"Now, cram your head into that helmet and hop on. You're riding bitch."

J snickered as he strapped the helmet on, slinking in behind Nora to perch himself on the back of the huge bike. Nora revved the engine and glanced back.

"Hold on tight, I'm a nippy little thing."

J grabbed onto the back bracer, and before he could reply, Nora was kicking back the foot stand and they were peeling down the road with a roar, the ocean, beach and city lights blurring around them as they swerved and dipped through the open road. Shit! She was fast. But as the sky bled to purple, and the city lights lit up in a rainbow of fluorescence, with Nora's orange hair billowing around them, the taste of sea salt on lips and sand scattered clothes, just the two of them, J was happy.

* * *

**So, what do you think? Who's P.O.V do you want to see next?**

**Thank you all for the follows and favourites, and if you could, drop a review and let me know your thoughts. **


	3. Chapter 3

**PART FIVE: THE RATTLESNAKE**

**Pope's P.O.V**

**xXx**

"I am telling you, the kid is up to something!"

Andrew Cody, better known as Pope, snarled as he paced the open kitchen. Baz was at the little island counter, kicked back, sipping at a bottle of Coors light, after having dropped off little Lena at her babysitters for the next few days while the boys talked game. This early in the morning, Deran was likely at the beach, hitting the morning waves, and Craig was, well, Craig was likely hungover, snoring in bed, trying to get over what, and whoever, he had hit last night. From the little hum coming from the hallway, J was probably in the shower, getting ready to head off to school, and Smurf, no doubt, was prowling somewhere. Baz dismissed Pope's barely concealed anger with a flippant wave of his hand.

"The kid is being just that, a kid. He missed a few family meetings, sure, but nothing big. Let him live a little."

Pope's pacing picked up speed. J had done more than miss a few meetings. Over the last month, J had been on his cell most of the time, tapping away messages, taking calls as he excused himself to the privacy of his room. Then, about a week ago, nearly two, he'd started going out, almost every night, not back until late, if he bothered enough to come back at all, and Pope knew there was something going on. _He knew it_. Pope turned on Baz, slapping a hand down on the counter with a clap, as he pointed down the hallway J was obviously down.

"And you don't think this is strange? A month ago, J couldn't be eager enough to play getaway driver or lookout. Now he's hardly ever here, and when he is, he's on the phone. People don't just switch this fast. He's-"

Of course, Pope knew what Baz thought of him. He knew what Smurf did too. Craig and Deran were practically cellophane, they were so transparent. He knew it all too well. Paranoid, they called him. Unstable, they thought. Crazy, they hinted. But, fucking hell, it was him and his mind that had kept them all out of the fire multiple times. He could sniff a rat out from a mile off, he could see when something was up days before the others, and Jesus, why wasn't anyone else feeling what he was feeling? Before he could finish his rant, Baz slammed his bottle down on the table top, cutting him off.

"What is this really about Pope? Huh? Jealous the kid has a better social life than you?"

And it was just like Baz to make him feel trivial. As if Pope couldn't possibly know anything Baz already didn't. Almighty, all-seeing, all omniscient fucking Baz. His adopted brother had a god-complex the size of California. Bracing his hands on the counter, squaring his shoulders, Pope rolled his neck, holding back another snarl. When he felt like he had partially gotten himself under control, at least to the point where he didn't want to smash something or send his fist swinging, Pope finally managed to address the core of his problem.

"The contact letter J sent out a while ago, you know the one, from the adoption agency to his sister? He should have heard something back by now. Even a denial. But he keeps saying the lines been dead. Why would he lie, Baz? Tell me that."

Pope just wasn't buying what J was trying to sell. Even if J's sister was out of the country, worst case scenario, for some adopted kids ended up moving, the whole process would have taken three weeks, tops. Pope would know, he had researched the damned thing for three days straight. It was coming to the end of the fifth week now, nearly sixth, and still, according to J, there was nothing.

If J had heard back, and the girl had given a request for no contact, J would have been informed weeks ago. Two, to be exact. So, J trying to peddle the radio silence line was utter bullshit. That left one option. J had heard back, it was a green-light, and for some fucking reason, he was keeping it hidden. Why? For exactly how long? Before Pope could work himself up any further, Baz was shrugging nonchalantly as if Pope had only informed him tonight's game had been cancelled.

"Maybe J's not lying. Maybe this other kid wants nothing to do with us, the adoption agency is working on a nice little condolence letter to help with the rejection, and maybe that's a good thing."

Pope rolled his jaw until the bone nearly cracked, his fingers digging into marble as his arms tensed underneath his neatly pressed button-up shirt. He looked at Baz then. Really looked at him. Baz with his carefree stance. Baz with his own daughter waiting for him. Baz, who had not taken the fall and had been sent to fucking prison for a mistake _he_ made. Baz who had everything and couldn't give two shits if, god forbid, anyone else wanted anything similar.

"You would say that, wouldn't you."

Baz flung his arms out.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

Pope bounced away from the counter, storming to his brothers side, bearing down upon him, muscles in his dimpled cheek twitching as they fought not to spew the million and one words he wanted to fling at Baz's face.

"You can't stand me having anything, can you? You never could and you never will."

The shrill scrape of the bar stool being pushed back as Baz stood abruptly matched the buzzing in Pope's ears as the other man pressed in tight, nearly nose to nose.

"Not if it's this! God, Pope, do you realize how fucking twisted this all is? Do you have any idea how wrong it is? It was bad enough that you and Jul-… That you both… That… But this? This! This is beyond insanity! With any luck, the kid will be dead and we can all forget anything like this was-"

Pope was swinging before he truly comprehended what Baz was saying. The hit landed soundly on Baz's jaw as his head swung back, stumbling into the kitchen counter behind them to try and keep his balance, less he fell to the floor. Silence fell down around them as Baz leant heavily on the kitchen counter, hand coming up to rub at his jaw, a clacking sound breaking the stagnant air as his jaw clicked back into place. Pope doubted his jaw was broken, but it would bruise and be sore for the next couple of weeks with the way it had popped back into joint. Baz had had worse. They all had. Still, Pope couldn't focus on the look of surprise on Baz's face, even a little bit apologetic if you squinted the right way, nor the slight sting to his knuckles.

Why was it wrong? Because it was him? Pope? It hadn't felt wrong. Julia had always been the only one to ever fully understand him. Like him. Laugh with him. _Love_ him. From womb until her departure, they had shared everything. Secrets. Beds. Jobs. Why was that so fucking wrong? And how was it fair? He had given everything, his time, his mind, his life, to his family. Money, jail time, blood, sweat, tears, he had wept it all for them. Was asking for one damned thing in return too much? Eleanora was his d-…

Pope had as much right to contact with J's sister as J did. Smurf too. Baz, Craig and Deran. They were her family too. Eleanora belonged here. With them. With _him_. And if the fucking kid was hiding her, lying to them, about something so important, what else was he hiding? What else was he lying about?

"Don't ever fucking say that to me again."

Pope's voice was like an island made of stone, remote, removed, unyielding. That glimmer of remorse was still flickering in Baz's gaze, but Baz wouldn't speak on it. Baz never did, and to be honest, Pope didn't want it either. What he had done… Catherine… Perhaps Baz was right… But no. No. Pope was far, far, far from being a saint. He stole without a single ounce of regret. He fought with a rush only an addict could understand. And he had killed, murdered, for this family. Catherine… Lena would grow up without a mother because of him, because he had followed what Smurf had told him to do like a good little son, and Baz knew nothing.

In fact, the poor bastard was still looking for his wife, thinking she had left him for greener pastures. Still, Pope was a selfish creature, all Cody's were, and this time he wouldn't move from his ground. No matter what Baz said. No matter what Smurf ordered. Julia's daughter belonged here, home, with them.

"Fuck it. I'm out. Give me a ring when you have your head screwed on right."

Without anything else to add, Baz pushed away from the kitchen, away from Pope, and made his way out of the house. The slam of the front door ringing out his departure. Pope sagged into a chair and ran a tired hand down his face. From around the fridge, near the front hallway, a small silhouette stepped out. Pope groaned. How long had Smurf been watching and listening?

"Sweety?"

For all of it, by the softness of her voice. She always did like lurking. Pope's hands clenched. Unclenched. Clenched. Unclenched. They kept going until the muscles in his fingers, palms and forearms began to cramp. Pain was good. Pain kept him in the present. Pain made him focus. Staring over to Smurf, Pope cocked his head.

"The kid is up to something. I know it. Baz knows it. You know it."

The small blonde woman crossed her arms over her chest, one jean clad leg, ending in a little dolly shoe, slipping over the other as she leant to the side, propping herself up against the cabinet of the big fridge by her shoulder. Cody women were always so small. Smurf was miniscule. Julia had been tiny. Idly, he wondered if J's sister would be as little and petite as her mother and grandmother. He thought so.

Cody women were also terrifyingly fierce when angered. Smurf was always of the cold sort of anger, the calculating kind of a snake, where Julia had been full of fists and kicks and bites. Well, she had been before her descent into heroin addiction, and the most passion she would show was the spasms of her thin body as she seized from a hit gone wrong. Again, he wondered if J's sister took after either of them, or perhaps, both. So many questions. So many unknowns. Smurf snapped him out of reminiscing.

"I know."

Now it was Pope's turn to fling his arms out.

"Then why haven't you done anything? Speak to J! Let me speak to him!"

Smurf smirked.

"I have done something. I just chose to wait for the right time. What have I told you? Patience is a virtue, Pope."

Kicking off from the fridge, Smurf strolled towards him, hand delving into her jeans back pocket.

"The right time turned out to be while he is in the shower. Poor boy left his phone out."

Pulling her hand free, Smurf produced a cell, waving it out in front of her, between her and Pope. In the distance, he could barely hear the shower still running. The case on it was a tatty thing, a stock photo of the ocean pressed onto the back of the cheap plastic. That was J's phone alright. With a jut of her arm, Smurf offered him the phone.

"Problem is, it's locked."

Pope wearily grabbed it, weighing it in his hand. In the end, he scoffed. As if any lock could keep him out. Smurf knew that too, and pointlessly, he thought that was why she was here in the first place. Smurf wanted answers as much as he did, she simply lacked the skills to grab them, but the plan to get them. Hitting the home button, the face lit up with the common four number lock pin.

J's birth year made the phone vibrate and flash as the passcode was incorrect. Firing off Julia's birth year, Pope faced the same problem again. Swearing, he tapped his finger off the side of the phone. He had one more try before the phone completely locked itself for the next half hour. Then it came to him. 0631. The screen went black before popping into the colourful home screen. 06 31… July 31st. Eleanora's birthday. One of the few items J had was her original birth certificate, and, well, Pope had seen that when he had gone into J's room after hearing of the news and took a photo. The kid needed to learn better places to hide his shit.

Smurf sidled up to his side, eyes wide as she looked down at the phone, as Pope went into the phone log. Scrolling through, he saw the majority of the calls came from the same number. _Bingo_. This was who J was talking to so much, meeting up with too likely. Next to the number was a simple name. _Nora_. Pope would bet his left fucking nut that was short for Eleanora. Exiting the phone log, Pope tapped into the contacts. J had barely any, his family, Nicky, and there, Nora. Clicking on the caller profile, Pope watched as the caller ID popped up, along with the photo J had attached to the ID.

J stood by the railing of Oceanside's pier, arm outstretch as he took the photo, smiling widely with the setting sun and ocean behind his back. Next to him, with his other arm draped around her shoulders, was a young girl with a dimpled dazzling grin. Sixteen, seventeen at a push. Her hair was a beast of its own, piled high on her head in a ponytail explosion of fiery curls. She looked delicate, mischievous almost, a little fairy buzzing bright, covered in golden freckles with her round glasses sitting wonky on her face. On her forehead was a mean looking scar, splitting one arching brow in two, like she had been struck by lightning. He could only see the top half of her, but her white T-shirt had cut sleeves, edges frayed, Whitesnake's band logo proudly emblazoned across her chest.

She didn't look like Julia, though she was as small as her. Neither did she look like Smurf, though she had her cheekbones. She had Deran's eyes, green, but the intensity had been maxed out, upped to a hundred. There was nothing of Craig in her, apart from the lop-sidedness of her dimpled smile. She had J's jawline, but that was about it. Yet, fucking hell, did she, despite their palpable differences, look like Pope. From beside him, he heard Smurf chuckle.

"I'm impressed J's managed to keep this under wraps as long as he has."

Pope managed to pull himself away from the photo, turning to gaze at Smurf, lost for words, and in spite of the indulgent chuckle, she looked deadly serious.

"But that ends now. Give her a ring. Tell her J wants her to come over to the house, make up some excuse of him being in school, so you'll pick her up, and J will meet her here after he's finished. I'll take J to school while you go and get her."

Pope felt a little adrift then. Lost. A little animal balloon some sticky-fingered toddler had let go of, drifting up, and up, and up into the vast sky.

"Do you really think it's her?"

Smurf took a step away from him, putting her hands on her hips as her chin tilted up.

"I know a Cody when I see one, and that girl has our name written all over her. Do you not think so?"

Pope glanced back down at the photo, silently agreeing. The girl looked too much like them, like Julia, like _him_, and that floating feeling was back in full force. Up, and up, and up he went, until he thought he was having difficulty breathing. He had suspected, of course he had, but he… There… Actually seeing it, actually knowing, actually seeing the proof with his own two eyes, was completely different. It made it _real_. The girl was _real. _Eleanora was _real. _It had all been _real. _

"Won't J notice his phone is missing?"

Smurf didn't even hesitate in her reply. She had likely planned all this from the very second she had stepped out from behind the fridge.

"Not if you ring her before he gets out of the shower and I can put it back. And make sure you turn it off afterwards, so he doesn't think to ring her. By then, it will be done with."

Smurf was stepping closer again, soft hand raising to his cheek, cradling it like she used to when he was just a boy. Pope came hurtling back down to earth with a horrid thud and churn of the gut.

"I want to meet my granddaughter. Family is family. Don't you want to meet your _niece_, sweety?"

Pope pulled his face away from her hand, eyes falling to the hardwood flooring.

"You know I do."

Pope whispered.

"Then go and bring her home. Where she belongs."

Smurf's reply left no room for argument, no budge, and, honestly, Pope couldn't bring himself to argue. He didn't _want _to. So what if all this was wrong? It wouldn't be the first time Pope was working in the darker shades of grey. He was a Cody. They were Cody's. This girl was a Cody. She belonged with them. That opinion had not changed, and Pope didn't think it ever would. Double tapping her ID, he brought the cell up to his ear as it started ringing. Smurf smiled at him. Pope found himself grinning back.

* * *

**PART SIX: THE RAVEN**

**Nora's P.O.V**

**xXx**

_There is no good and evil, there is only power and those too weak to seek it._

Nora's eyes snapped open; the exhalation of a shuddering breath trapped between her clenched teeth. She didn't shout, she didn't flinch, there was no tumble or flail of limbs, no sign of a nightmare, just a jarring sort of drop into awareness. Sweat, hot and tacky, was clamming to her forehead, sticking her hair down her back and face. Her heart was frantically beating in her chest, pounding against lung and rib bone. Her fingers felt numb, slightly tingly, as they wrapped and grappled with the sheet underneath her. Her tongue felt thick, heavy, a useless mass of muscle swelling until her voice was lost. Slowly, she breathed.

_Six._ Voldemort's voice still echoed in her ear, high and keen, but he was _Dead._ She knew that. He was gone and he couldn't touch her anymore. He couldn't taunt her. Haunt her. Trap her. Possess her. She had won, and she was here.

_Five._ She could still see the sickly flash of putrid green, but her dead body wasn't falling to the dewy grass this time. She was alive. She had won. She was here and Tom wasn't. She had won, and she was here.

_Four._ She could still smell the blood, the dust, that unexplainable spark of fire in the air that always followed magic, but she was no longer in Hogwarts, surrounded by bodies, castle half demolished around her. The battle of Hogwarts was over. Finished. She wasn't there anymore. She had won, and she was here.

_Three._ In the beat of her heart echoing in her hazy ears, she could still hear the screams, oh Merlin, the screams. Remus. Sirius. Tonks. Dobby. Fred. Cedric. Countless screams for innumerable unblinking faces. She could hear them all with every beat, but they could only deafen her when she was dreaming, not when she was awake. The ghosts of her past liked the shadows and they always left her cold in daylight. She had won, and she was here.

_Two._ Salty tears were cresting on her eyelashes, blurring her already poor vision, but they wouldn't fall. She had cried enough in her life, too much, and now, she didn't think she was capable of shedding any more. She had won, and she was here.

_One_. She could still taste death on her tongue, something sour and fatty, spoiled meat dipped in coarse sugar. She swallowed it away. She had beaten that too, after all. Death was not the end, she knew that. It was the beginning. She had won, and she was here.

Six breathes was all it ever took for Nora to wash away her nightmares, just six, to remind herself of who she was, how far she had come, to feel alive. At this point, she was used to the vile dreams of memories best left alone and forgotten. They came and they went, like a tide, and she, bobbing along, would ride them out. It was routine by now. Still, for the short time, but bloody hell did it feel like a life time, for the six breathes to come and pass, Nora was trapped somewhere terrible, caught in a land between reality and dream-scape, confusion and fear, and she always felt like she was dying all over again.

But here was different. So very fuckin' different. When she had first learned of Joshua, J as he liked to be called, from a bloody letter of all things, she had felt discombobulated. Disjointed and cut. First came the denial. It was wrong. A prank. Some political ploy from a former Deatheater to try and unseat her, trap her. Second came the anger, the absolute rage. How dare they? Petunia, Dumbledore, everybody who knew, who had said nothing, done nothing, not a thing, had left her to this life of sacrificial lamb and loss, all the while she had a fuckin' family out there, and she had hated them all with a burning intensity. She had nearly burnt down Grimmauld place that night in a whirlwind of fury.

Afterwards, she had tried to bargain. In a way, it, finding out she was adopted, felt like she had died again. Lost all of who she was. Eleanora Potter, the greatest lie. And what did Lily die for? What did all her friends die for? A Potter. Not this, some adopted kid kicked to the curb. If she wasn't a Potter, if she was not the daughter of Lily and James, that meant the prophecy wasn't true, not really, and it had all been self-fulfilling bullshit. She had gone to the pub, polished off her fair share of fire-whiskey, and had visited her parents, her a_dopted _parents, graves. There, she had sobbed like she had never sobbed before, crashed on knee at their headstones, begging with a sort of desperation that left her hoarse for days. She had begged them, pleaded, to their cold headstones, to make it not true. Only the wind had greeted her frantic pleas, and she had spent the night there, broken, crying.

Depression hit her hard after that. She locked herself away. Ignored the floo calls, the owls, the door, and brooded. She wasn't a Potter. Everything had been a lie. Would Sirius still have loved her as he did if he had known? Would Remus have smiled at her as he had if he knew? So many questions had buzzed around her head, gathering like black thunder clouds, dragging her under. They, and many others, had given their lives in protecting the Potter kid, only, she wasn't a Potter, was she? She was something fake, a fabrication, a mockery, a lie, and in so, she felt like she had tricked them all.

Thankfully, acceptance came in a single realisation. _Lily had loved her._ That much was true. Her protection, Lily's sacrifice, would not have worked if Lily had not loved her like her own daughter. And so what if Nora didn't share their blood? For a little while, she had shared their home, their love, their food, and in a way, wasn't that what made a family? Sirius, Remus, Dobby, they had died for _her_, for a chance at a better world, not for a name.

And then she had a chance, a real chance, at having a family. One not taken before she could remember it, one not like the vile lie Petunia made hers to be, and dammit, it had been all Nora had ever wanted and it was right there, at her finger tips, if she just reached out and grabbed it. And she did. She rang J. She packed up her few belongings, told her dear friends she was going on a gap year, vacationing the world, before she went into her Auror training with Ron, and she had flown away on the back of Sirius's motorbike.

Nora had met J nearly two weeks ago, and she didn't regret a thing. The sun was bright and hot, the beach was fuckin' beautiful, the bars were alright and lax on their fake ID's, and Nora had a brother. Nora… Had… A… Brother. She never thought she would have a chance at that. And while the story of her mother was pretty tragic, the little J had told her, Nora was just happy to get what she had. She was happy to be on the beach drinking shitty warm Budweiser with J. She was happy to meander up and down the Pier, chatting away, though she did most of the talking. She was happy, and Nora, as sad as it sounded, hadn't been anything remotely close to happy in a very long time. If ever.

Oh, J was a Slytherin alright. Nora had sussed out that much. He was hiding shit, Nora hadn't survived this long without being a little bit observant, but then again, so was she. He was sharp, a little too serious, intelligent, and he had a rather pessimistic penchant. Yet, he was kind, he never asked for more than she was willing to give, or question something she wasn't willing, yet, to answer, and in turn, she offered him the same kindness. It wasn't perfect, don't get her wrong. Sometimes it was awkward. Real fuckin' awkward. Sometimes, Nora didn't know what to say or do, or she did or said the completely wrong thing, as Gryffindors were prone to do. Sometimes, with his snarky nihilistic attitude, he rubbed her the wrong way. And she rubbed him the wrong way too, she knew that. She was loud. She was brash. She was Nora.

Yet, they were growing pains. They were still getting to know one another, size the other one up, testing boundaries, and hit and misses were bound to crop up. No one was perfect. It had only been five weeks since that first phone call, and they had a life time to catch up on. But, somehow, they balanced each other out. Nora cracked J out of his shell, J calmed her down a bit, J made her laugh, and Nora made it easy for J. Where Nora was hot tempered, J was patient. When J was too quiet, Nora spoke up for him.

When Nora had accidentally, and she couldn't stress that word enough, started a bar fight down at the cove, a little hidey hole of a bar, it was J who had talked them all down from bottling each other. When J had been caught with his fake ID at another bar, trying to stutter out excuses so the barmaid didn't ring the cops on them, it was Nora's easy charm that had earned them both a place to drink, and a couple of free bottles of Jack Daniels, she might add. Okay. Maybe they both had the proclivity for getting into trouble in them, but hey, it made things fun.

And things had been fun. It had been carefree. A little wild, just how Nora liked it and, bloody hell, she felt like an actual sixteen-year-old girl, and not the adult she had been forced to prematurely grow up into. She wasn't going to let her nightmares ruin this.

Groaning, Nora swung her arm out, over to the bedside table, patting until finger tip brushed metal and glass. Sitting up, trying to push her damp hair as far out of her face as possible, she bumbled through sliding her glasses on. The room around her came into focus. Getting up from the bed, she winced as she had to peel the sheets away from her clammy skin. Unfortunately, she didn't know whether it was the nightmares or the bloody intense heat of California, but she needed to figure out how that fuckin' air con worked, or she was going to sweat herself into a coma.

Making a note to change the sheets after her shower, dressed in only a thin tank and her underwear, Nora toddled into the small beach hut kitchen. Filling a pot of coffee and setting it to boil, she made her way into the bathroom down the hall. By the time she had washed, brushed her teeth, dried her hair, got dressed into something clean and at least half presentable, too tired from a restless night to do much else, and tidied the bedroom with a few quick spells, the coffee was only just finished. Nora was efficiently swift, if anything. Kicking back on a little bar stool by the kitchen counter, Nora poured herself a healthy mug, lit a cig, and was promptly, and quite rudely if she might add, interrupted from enjoying her morning by the blaring ring of her mobile phone. With a grumble, not bothering to look at the caller ID, she answered.

"I haven't even had my first cup of coffee yet, so you better pray this is good or else."

Her friends, the few she had, and the even fewer still alive, knew she was anything but a morning bird, even if she was often up at the crack of dawn. And J, well, J had learned that lesson when he had rung her, right before school, and she had greeted him very much like she had now, with a few swears thrown in for good measure. She had sheepishly apologized later, when she was full of nicotine and caffeine, but J had good naturedly laughed it off. However, it wasn't J's calm but pleasant voice that greeted her, neither was it Hermione's stern clearness, or Ron's boisterousness, but a completely new voice.

"Is this Nora?"

Frowning, Nora quickly pulled the phone away, checking the screen, and upon seeing J's ID photo and number staring back, her scowl deepened as she brought the phone back to her ear. Seven other people had her number. Hermione. Ron. Molly. Neville. McGonagall. Luna. Shacklebolt. Hermione and Ron so they could keep in touch in her gap year away, while the two vacationed themselves, they had all earned it after all. Neville and Luna to keep her up to date on the small goings on of Hogwarts. Molly in case of a Weasley or Teddy emergency. McGonagall and Shacklebolt in the event there were Deatheater trouble or Wizarding problems.

They all believed she was on a 'finding oneself' journey, she couldn't bring herself to tell them the truth, not just yet, she was still trying to fully process it herself, and she doubted anyone would try and track her down through J. Neither did she know of anyone J would know, who would have access to his phone, who would want to speak to her.

"Who the fuck is this?"

Silence came and stayed for a long while, hanging heavy in the air. The line crackled and Nora thought, from the other side, she could hear a deep intake of breath.

"Pope. My name is Pope."

The name didn't ring any bells, but the man, it was definitely a man speaking, said it as if it should.

"Right, well, what are you doing ringing from J's phone? Is he alright? Is he hurt? Where is he?"

Was J hurt? In the hospital? Was this Pope his friend? Once again, there was silence, as if this Pope was weighing up what to say.

"Nora is short for Eleanora, isn't it? Your mother used to love that name. She always wanted a baby girl, said she would name the baby it if she ever did."

Nora gritted her teeth.

"I'm only going to ask this one more time. Who. The. Fuck. Is. This."

It wasn't a question, a request, far from it. It was a demand. Nora hadn't made many friends here, apart from J, much less ones who knew her Merlin damned biological mother. Perhaps it was the lack of coffee, the early morning, the night filled with terrors conjured by a haunted mind, but something was trying to connect, she could feel it nagging in the back of her head, nipping. She, however, just wasn't getting it. And in the moment, thinking J could be possibly hurt, well, that was all she could focus on. Eventually, the strange man, this Pope, answered.

"Pope. I'm J's uncle."

Nora stalled, all gears grinding to a terrible halt, anger and confusion fleeing her on the back of a sharp intake of breath. J hadn't mentioned much of their uncles, bloody hell, she didn't even know their names. She knew they existed, along with this grandmother figure, but that was about it. She didn't even know how many there were. Nevertheless, Nora had been so swept up in having a brother, a real one, nothing like Dudley, that she had, maybe, side-lined that little fact for the time being to enjoy her time with J. Wearily, she spoke.

"As in… As in from his mother's side?"

Nora had picked up J's hint on their fathers. How could she not? Perhaps a little too impulsively, she had thought J's reluctance to speak of his uncles and grandmother had been because they came from his father's side. Technically, they would be her pseudo uncles too, but not really, and in the light of this, knowing what not-really-uncles were like, Vernon with his red, flabby face and tight hands, the back of his knuckles striking her cheek, she hadn't pushed much to find out more. Perhaps she was scared. She was willing to admit that. Aunts, uncles… She didn't have a good track record with them. The thought of having more, maybe like the one she already knew, terrified her. What a strange thing to be scared of. _Uncles_.

"Yes. Julia was my twin."

Then this… This Pope was her uncle too. And he didn't sound like Vernon. There was no disdain in his voice, that barely concealed loathing, that spittle of venom, hatred, pure and unfiltered. There was only this sort of hesitant hope, soft.

"I-… Uh… Yes, this is Eleanora."

Elegant. Real fuckin' elegant. First, threaten him, then demand an answer, and then, as if that wasn't bad enough for a first impression, stumble around her words like she was a bloody first-year again.

"Look, J's in school but he asked me to give you a ring. He wanted to know if you felt like coming over to the house today? He has an exam, so he can't miss the day out, but he'll be back by four. He thought it might be nice if you spent the day with the rest of the family."

Her brain was still five steps behind.

"Rest of the family?"

There was a chuckle, very much like her own, gruff, from the other end.

"Yes. Your grandmother and other uncles will be here. We all want to meet you."

So, J had told them about her? Well, it made sense, really. Still, Nora was used to being excluded, side-lined, boxed out. She had been, for a very long time, the enemy. Vernon and Petunia treated her much like vermin. In Hogwarts she had been someone, a Potter, to either gawk at in awe for something she had nothing to do with, or sneer and jeer at in the hallways. Then she had been on the run, hiding, trying to survive, undesirable number fuckin' one, with near enough a country waiting for her death. Even the Weasleys, as much as she loved them, had always sort of separated her from their own kids.

No one, not one, had ever really wanted her for _her_ before. Vernon and Petunia had wanted the kid Lily had lost, and so, came to hate its replacement. Hogwarts wanted a hero, or a devil, to hail or slay. The wizarding world wanted a savior or a sacrifice. And the Weasley's, and many others if she was honest, wanted the Potter name in line with their own. Nora wasn't Lily's true-born child, she was just some poor sod the big-hearted woman had taken in. She wasn't a hero, or a demon, just a person trying to survive the next year. She wasn't a savior, she had fought Tom for very personal, very selfish reasons. Neither was she a sacrifice, she was more than that, she was a human being. And, fuckin' hell, she wasn't even a Potter so many wanted to be associated with.

"You want to meet me?"

So, no, she wasn't used to anyone wanting simple, plain, irrevocably human, Nora, just for having Nora, without an ulterior motive. Unfortunately, her incredulousness at such a notion, bordering on shock, crept into her voice. Pope's answer came immediately.

"Of course we do."

There was no reluctance, no ounce of insincerity, deceit, and it threw her. It threw her more than her nightmares. More than the idea of J being hurt. More than the fear of uncles with big fists and mean eyes.

"I-… Sure, that sounds great."

Apparently, it had thrown her enough to lose nearly all social and verbal skills too.

"Good, if you give me your address, I can come pick you up."

Nora glanced out the large patio doors onto the beach front, eyeing up Sirius's bike glittering in the rising sun.

"I have a bike, I can ride up-"

"We can pack it into the back of the truck. The road up to the house is winding and the turn off is hard to find. We can meet somewhere public, if that makes you feel-"

"No. I just didn't want to impose. My address is 704, The Strand, North Oceanside. Do you know where that is?"

There was silence again, and Nora thought he might be jotting it down.

"Yeah, I've got it. I'll be there in half hour. I'll see you soon."

"See you soon."

And then the line went dead, but Nora was still left reeling. Picking up her coffee mug, black liquid now cold, she preferred it when it burnt her tongue, she chugged the lot. It wasn't whiskey, but it was at least something. Sparking up a cig, she took a long, hard drag. It was far too early for this shit, Nora decided.

* * *

**Thoughts? Feelings? Who's P.O.V do you wish to see next?**

Thank you to everyone who followed, favourited and reviewed last chapter! This ones for you! I hope I haven't murdered anyones characters yet, as Pope was very hard to pin down in writing. **If you want to see anymore, don't forget to drop a review!** They let me know if there's interest in a story, feed my inspiration, and generally, just make me smile :).

As a last reviewer asked, we are going to get to see some Wizarding world people, Nora isn't just going to disconnect and vanish. However, I do want to focus on Animal Kingdom, it's characters, and Nora's integration into the plot, family and crimes at play firstly. So, it's going to be a while before we see any Hermione, Ron's or Draco's.

If you have a certain scene you want to see, perhaps a line of dialogue, act, or song, drop it in a Review or P.M and I'll try and add it in.


	4. Chapter 4

**PART SEVEN: THE DOE**

**Pope's P.O.V**

**xXx**

Pope Cody pulled up to the sidewalk, the engine of his car cut with a whirr, gazing at the little beach hut across from him. He checked his phone. No, this was definitely it. 704, The Strand, North Oceanside. Yet, Pope had to, for the fifth time that morning, stop himself from reaching for the ignition, twisting the key, and taking another tour of the neighbourhood under the flimsy pretext of looking for the right address.

He was stalling, he knew, and Pope wasn't used to dithering. He was a man who knew what needed to be done, he went out and did it, and that was the end. One. Two. Three. Simple. And yet… _Yet. _He couldn't bring himself to open the fucking car door, only stare at the little cottage in front of him. What if she opened the door, took one look at him, all it ever took to get people running was _one _look, and slammed it in his face? What if-

Fuck. Shit. Breathe. One long drag in, one long drag out. He was here. He wasn't going to run away. He wasn't going to take another circuit of the road, pretending to search for an address he knew exactly where it was. And he definitely, most certainly, was _not_ going to sit out here all morning staring at Eleanora's home like some sort of stalker.

Pope would breathe, Pope would get his shit together, and Pope would walk right on up to that door and knock. What came next would be what it was, in whatever shape it came in. With one last calming breath, before he could think himself out of it all over again, Pope reached for the car door handle, pulled, and slipped onto the pavement, the smack of his door banging shut masking the sound of his shoes slapping tarmac.

The walk to the front door seemed greater, more winding, and longer than he thought such a short walk could. It was a nice little cottage, two story, little veranda with a breakfast table and a myriad of potted plants, large windows and bays, light and airy, and for some strange reason, one he couldn't fully grasp, it made him happy to know this, this place full of sunshine and sea breeze, was where Eleanora was staying. It wasn't some two-by-four shit stained motel room off the scrapyard, and it was safe, in a nice neighbourhood, away from the usual spots the druggies usually gathered, and…

Stalling. He was stalling again. Pope shuffled at the door, tugged his shirt hem, cracked his neck, and punched the doorbell. A voice echoed back from somewhere deep inside the house.

"One moment!"

There it was again, a twist in the vowels, keen, the thick English accent Pope had heard from over the crackle of a phone line scattered with some sort of brogue he couldn't place. Irish? No. Scottish, yes, and a little-

The door swung open. The stolen photo in his wallet fell short, felt heavy in his back pocket, sticking him to the floor, roots growing out his feet, and Pope, a man who knew what needed to be done and did it, completely froze. She was short, tiny really, and she was exactly like her photo on J's phone, but so much… _More_. There was a healthy glow and flush to her skin that the flash couldn't catch, a mischievous sparkle in the evergreen eye a lens couldn't grab, a slant to a dimple missed by overexposure and… Life, there was a life there speckled in her freckles that a photo couldn't contain.

She was real. She was real, and alive, and very much in front of him… And Pope was utterly silent, staring, just staring, and why wasn't he talking? Introducing himself? Saying hello?

"Are you Pope?"

Her fingers on the door frame flexed, wiggled, _nervous. _Pope came crashing back to himself with all the grace of a spider on ice. That is to say, with none at all. Coughing into a tight fist, he squared his shoulders.

"Yes… Me… Pope. Hello."

It could have been better, but, with the sudden rolling of his gut, it could have been a lot worse. The girl-… Eleanora, her _name_ was Eleanora, blinked and, there, the small shake of her head, the miniscule crunch of her nose, he realised she too was snapping back into herself. Then she grinned, broad, toothy, too bright and too warm, and it looked so much like his own smile. She took a step back, sweeping out her arm.

"Do you want to come in, have a quick coffee or… Well, I only have coffee. And no milk… I don't drink milk… So it will have to be black coffee… And I should have picked up some juice or… or…"

Pope strode through into the house as she fell silent. He glanced back just in time to see her shut the door and wince. He tried to smile back, but he was convinced it was more grimace than grin.

"Coffee is fine."

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, she was off, across the living room and into the open kitchen at the back, as if she wanted to put as much distance between himself and her. Pope took the time and space to collect himself and glance about. The house was… _Clean. _Clean and tidy and scrupulous, with everything meticulously put into its place, not a rug or throw crinkled, not a book left open, not a coaster left wonky.

_Just like him. _

Eleanora had his smile, and his order and… Breathe. Calm. The whistle of the coffeepot hooted in the silence.

"I'm sorry. I'm not very good at this. I never have been. The first time I met J, I called him fuckin' short. That was it. No hello, how are you, just a 'oh, you're a tiny bastard'… I'm just a little… Bloody hell, I'm actually nervous. I swear I don't normally ramble like this, and I usually have better manners and-… And I'm doing it again. Merlin, why aren't I just shutting up? I just keep going. What is that? What…"

She chuckled and it was further hopeless than humorous. That was all it took for Pope. That little chuckle, and everything slid into place. She was nervous, he was nervous, and these were new waters, and, by his silence and her rambling, they were… They were a lot alike, the stag and the doe, different sides of the same socially inept coin, and that… That was _good. _That felt nice. Nice for reasons, again, he could not fully explain. Finally, he found himself, the man who knew what to do and got it done. He met her eye over the kitchen island, and, yes, this time he _did_ smile.

"I'm nervous too."

Her shoulders sagged.

"Really?"

He nodded.

"Yes."

And the tension broke. Just like that. One word and it went pop and, together, they could breathe. She slunk out from behind the counter, edging closer, step by step, and not so overwhelmed, Pope took her in. She was dressed simply, jeans, white t-shirt, boots and leather jacket, though the latter was a few sizes too big for her. _A man's leather jacket. Well loved. _Comfort and ease.

Her hair was a beast all of its own. Unlike the photo in his pocket, where curls were just beginning to form, the photo on J's phone, where it was tangled into a bun, she had it down. Long and wild and feral. _His smile. His manner. His curls. _There was a mirror here, a mirror she couldn't see but he could, all too well, separating them, slicing. It hurt. It hurt _good_, Pope thought.

She came to a stop before him and jutted out an arm, palm open, ready for a handshake.

"Start over? I'm Nora. It's nice to meet you, Pope."

Pope was never one for touch. It never settled right. Made his skin feel too tight and his muscles trapped. Yet, he saw the hand, saw the distance still between them, and, strangely, he wanted it gone. Vanished. He stepped forward, bypassed the outstretched hand. It, perhaps, felt as odd for her being hugged, by the way she braced in his arms, as it felt for him to _be_ hugging.

Mirrors reflecting warped ruminations. However, a second, a flash, a heartbeat later, abruptly, he didn't feel so boxed, and she wasn't so rigid, this wasn't a huge mistake, and her arms rose to squeeze back, holding, clutching. It was a hug. A real hug. A bit too tight, clumsy by her short size, and achingly genuine. It was the greatest embrace Pope had ever had, for so many unspeakable reasons.

"It's very nice to meet you too."

He murmured into her hair. Pope meant it. Meant it more than she, maybe, would ever understand. He thought she heard him by the way she pressed back harder, heard more than the feeble words. Eventually, as all good things had to, it came to an end by a hum and a pat on the back as Eleanora detangled herself. Chin raised high, she smiled and nodded at him.

"Right, coffee. How many sugars do you take?"

Pope called back to her retreating form.

"Three, please. Black, so hot it burns your tongue."

She smiled at him from over her shoulder.

"That's how I have mine. Do you sometimes add-"

"_Aniseed?" _

They spoke at the same time. The laughter came swift on both sides, and the following conversation came quicker. Easy. _Comfortable_. As simple as breathing.

* * *

**PART NINE: THE KANGAROO**

**Deran's P.O.V**

**xXx**

The slam of his Harvester Scout merged with the slick click of Baz's BMW and the purr of Craig's Triumph Scrambler chopping to a hush.

"Does anybody know why we've been summoned so fucking early? I was busy."

Deran questioned as he strode over, flicking his phone around in his palm like a switch blade. It was the only explanation of why the three brothers had come tumbling to Smurf's house, at the same time, this early in the morning.

Deran should be out at the beach, eyeing the Cove as he had been over the last fortnight, counting coin or catching waves. Baz should be… Well, doing whatever the fuck Baz wanted to these days, and Craig, shit. Craig should be passed out, hunger over, or still partying. Perhaps some peculiar mixture of all three.

But Deran, as he was quickly suspecting the other's had, had awoken to a text. Just a line from Smurf. _Get your ass to the house or you're cut from the next job._ Simple, effective_,_ if it had worked on Craig too. So here they were, bleary eyed, on Deran's part, cantankerous on Baz's, and, as he was often doing lately, a Craig who was trying to shirk Nicky off his back.

"Fuck if I know. Hey, babe, why don't you head in and rest by the pool. I'll be there soon."

Nicky smiled at Craig, all sweet lip and fluttery lashes, before she sloped off to the back gate. Baz lingered until the door clacked shut behind her before he rounded on his biggest brother.

"What the hell is she doing here? If this _is_ about the next job, she needs to _leave."_

Craig chucked his helmet onto the sidebar of his bike, tying his hair back with a band as he shrugged.

"She crashed at mine last night. I tried to leave her behind, but she wasn't having any of it. What was I supposed to do? Tell her to fuck off? Kick her off my bike halfway down the road? That's one way to get her squalling to the fucking cops."

Baz ran a tired hand down his face, scratching at the stubble of his chin.

"Jesus, Craig. Just… Just keep her away. Give her a beer, give her a blunt, I don't fucking care. Just keep her off our backs while we talk with Smurf. She already knows too much, and Craig?"

Craig cocked a brow, and, to anybody else, perhaps even to Baz or Pope, it would seem careless and carefree. Cheery, under the hot Californian sun. However, Deran knew Craig, sometimes better than he wanted to. There was a tiny twitch to his nostril, a jump in his cheek, a little tensing of neck muscle.

He was pissed. Not about Nicky, or even the thought of losing her. In fact, Deran thought, he only stuck around with the girl because it utterly infuriated Baz, and an opportunity like that wasn't something he, nor Deran, would likely pass up. Nah, the big bastard was likely angry he was being told what to do… Again, and when someone told Craig to do something, rather than ask, he always, _always, _ran in the opposite direction.

"Yeah?"

Baz scanned him before striding into the garage, shouting over his shoulder.

"Sort her out for next time."

Craig huffed as Deran came to a languid stand at his side, cursing under his breath. Deran didn't really blame him. Not _all _too much. To keep Nicky quiet about her father, what she had seen in this house, they needed to keep her sweet. Smurf and Baz thought the best way to do that was to throw Craig at the poor girl. It worked, Nicky got what she wanted, all the coke she could sniff and a Cody in bed, and Craig?

Say what they want about Deran's brother, he had a heart, underneath all that bravado and swagger and irresponsibility. It wasn't always in the right place, Deran knew that personally, but it was there, perhaps the biggest any Cody had, and it had led him into many a scrap. He hated hurting people, emotionally that is. Worse still, Craig could never say no, and, perhaps, for once, Craig was happy he was chose first, instead of Pope or Baz. Nicky knew that all too well, she knew too much about everything, and here they were. Stuck between a rock and a hard place.

"Do you really think this is about the next job?"

Craig eyed him from the side, and grinned, back to his blithe, jolly self, never one to be angry for too long.

"What else could it be?"

What else, indeed. Clapping his brother on the back, Craig made his way into the house, Deran not far behind him. They caught up to Baz in the hallway, and found Smurf in the kitchen, and little Lena, and a shit ton of food being plated up. Baz grinned at Lena as she jumped down from her stall, the sugar from the cherry pie still sticky on her fingers, as Baz bent low and picked his daughter up, settling her on his hip. Although his voice was chirpy, cartoonish almost, his gaze, hard and exacting, landed on a smirking Smurf.

"Hey Lena-bear. Aren't you meant to be at school?"

Lena wiggled in his arms, grinning from ear to ear.

"Yeah, but mama Smurf said I could have the day off."

Baz's eyebrows shot up, smile a little stiff, tone cloyingly sweet.

"She did, did she?"

Smurf scoffed and carved another sliver of honey glazed ham.

"You would know, Baz, if you bothered to see her in the morning once in a blue moon."

Baz's grin faltered for a second, before it was back on in a blink, tight. He placed Lena down and ruffled her ponytail.

"Why don't you head outside for a bit, and play with your toys."

Lena nodded and dashed off, through the patio doors and into the sunshine. Craig sidled up to the table, reaching for a slice of cherry pie, when Smurf plucked up a spatula and snapped him on the back of the knuckles. His hand shot back, as, thick with tension, Deran asked what they were all thinking.

"What's all this for?"

Smurf didn't bother to look up, hard at work from tossing a salad.

"Can't I cook a nice meal for my sons?"

She glanced up, locked eyes with him, green sparring with sky blue. Deran saw through her bullshit. He always did. She _knew_ he always did. Eventually, she chuckled, as light as a church bell.

"The same reason I gave Lena the day off from school. The same reason I called all of you here. We're going to-"

The patio door slipped open, and Nicky, frowning, came tumbling in. Five fucking minutes… Deran rolled his eyes as he went to the fridge and plucked himself a beer free, before tossing one to Craig and Baz. He had a feeling it was going to be a long day, and if so, he would need all the liquid patience he could get his hands on.

"I was bored. Oh, is that cherry pie?"

Nicky sauntered over and picked up a plate, taking a bite before Smurf could stop her. Around the crumbs and a trail of sugar, she went to speak, but, thank fuck Deran thought, the sound of the front door buzzing open cut her clean off. That was likely Pope. He was never normally late, always the first to-

_Laughter_. Deran could hear laughter. Not just any laughter… He could hear _Pope _laughing. Pope… Pope was fucking laughing. Smurf placed down her spoon and beamed, dusting her hands off on a tea towel as she made her way around the kitchen island.

"They're here. Good. Just in time."

The closer they got, the more Deran could make out a second voice. Female. Husky. Something straight out a smoke and jazz bar from New Orleans or-… No. England, apparently. Baz popped the lid to his beer and took a long chug.

"Who exactly are _they_?"

Baz's question would soon be answered as Pope came strolling around the corner, grinning, promptly followed by a girl. The first thought Deran was hit with was how lovely she was. Tiny, and delicate, and a tad charming. Like a sunset over the ocean. Yet, paradoxically, on closer inspection, a second glance, she appeared almost… _Feral_. Fox like. A blaze of ginger locks tumbling about her like a tail end of a spinning comet. A flash of fire in a falling sky. He supposed the mean looking scar carving down her forehead, splitting one eyebrow in two, touching down on eyelid like a bolt of lightning, and the steal toe docs, tallied to the wild that was… Well, whoever this girl was. And Jesus, those eyes, where those contacts or-

"-and that's when the clowns came tumbling out the car. Five of them, full makeup, noses, wigs and all, I swear, like some shitty Saturday morning cartoon, one right after the other, yelling in Swedish. I don't speak a lick of Swedish, they don't speak English, and we're all there, at this truck stop in the middle of the bloody desert, surrounding a mini cooper, and they start miming-"

The girl dropped off to a dead stop as soon as her gaze fell to the full kitchen. She blinked, they blinked back, and then she was smiling. A smile with a twist to it, like the smile of a child who is determined not to get caught with their hand in the cookie jar. A smile with a dimple, like the smile of a snake oil salesman who could talk you into buying air shares. A smile hidden in a smile, like the smile of a poker player who had all the cards.

_Cody. _

That, there, in combats and curls and a keen smile, was a Cody. Deran would bet the last of his Camp Pendleton money on it. Indeed… Those where _his_ eyes. Brighter, larger, but the very same seaglass green. Nicky dashing her plate on the counter smashed the daze.

"Who are you?"

The girl's grin grew wider as Nicky came closer.

"I'm Nora. J's s-"

Nicky cut her off with a squaring of her shoulders.

"I'm Craig's girlfriend, and J's… Friend. His _best _friend. He's made no mention of you before."

Nicky skimmed the girl, smiling sweetly, pleasantly, and completely counterfeit. She offered out her hand in greeting. Did she… Deran bit back a chuckle. The poor girl thought _this_ was J's new squeeze? By the way Baz cocked his head, and the frown blossoming on Craig's face-… _odd _in and of itself, they must have thought so too.

Was he the only observant one around here? Jesus, it was a wonder none of them were rotting in prison yet, not including Pope's short stint in the pen. Speak of the devil, Pope dipped to Nora's side, gently laying a hand on her shoulder.

"This is-"

Nora's face lit up like a Christmas tree, freckles like fairy lights, something hot sparking in her eye.

"Oh, _you're_ the ex, aren't you? The one who nailed the uncle for a rail of blow… What was your name…Come on, J said something about… I remember!"

She clicked her fingers and laughed.

"Narcotic-Nicky!"

Nora actually, truly, honestly, looked proud that she had remembered Nicky's name, and seemed paradoxically oblivious to the fact she had just throat punched the girls rather frail dignity with five syllables. Deran thought he could see Nicky's hackles rise in real time, but the girl, evidently, wasn't finished. Nora glanced down to the hand still hovering in the air between them, side-eyeing the limb, smile dropping to a wince.

"I ain't fuckin' touching that. I don't know where it's been."

Not a throat punch then. A nice little neck snap. Nicky blistered to an almost comical shade of red, the hand fell with a flop, and Deran, of course, beer pressed to his lips, spluttered and choked. Baz coughed from beside him, and it sounded suspiciously like a chuckle. Nevertheless, what little fun this was, was similarly hastily put a full stop to as Pope finally intervened.

"This is Eleanora. She's J's _sister_."

You could hear a pin drop off the marble fucking floor in the ensuing silence as, finally, it clicked, as if it wasn't already obvious. It was in the swoop of her eye, the keen tongue, the vulgar wit. That, there, was a Cody. A Cody with an English accent of all things, but a Cody all the same. Smurf, forever in the lead, was the first to step forth, smiling fiercely.

"Hello, baby, I'm Smurf, you're grandmother. It's wonderful to finally meet you."

She closed the gap, hauled the girl into a warm hug, kissing a cheek, before she gestured around the room at the boys.

"You already know Pope. That one there is Baz. The one with the beer dripping down his shirt is Deran. And the tall one lurking in the back is Craig. Boys… Say hello."

The play button was hit. Deran tipped the skinny neck of his beer in her general direction, smirking, as Baz grinned and nodded in greeting, and Craig, curiously again, crossed his arms over his broad chested and scowled.

"Does the lack of sunshine mean people don't grow above five foot in England, Frodo? You're a bit far from your hobbit hole, aren't you?"

Nora scoffed, and quick as a shot, fired back.

"We grow enough to still be able to bite through your kneecap, Treebeard. Try me."

Silence, one heartbeat, two, three, and then… Then Craig laughed, in the only way Craig ever could, loud and full bellied and with everything he had. That _was_ Craig. Everything he did, everything he said, everything he wanted, it was all or nothing. No in between. Do or die, and fuck the consequences. Perhaps she was cut from the same cloth, because Nora merely smiled brighter. It was funny, Deran thought. Standing in an overcrowded kitchen, on opposite sides, and they were suddenly in their own little bubble, a warren of interest stretching from one point to the other, as if the rest of them were just background props. Nicky crept up to Craig's side, tugging on the hem of his plaid shirt.

"Craig, I thought you said you would show me the-"

He shook her off with a flippant wave of his hand.

"Nah, in a bit. Head up to the room, I'll be there later."

Nicky peeked up at Craig before cutting a quick squint to Nora, ahead of snorting and ambling away, down the hall at the back to the bedrooms. Craig didn't even glance her way. Well… Shit. Craig said no. Call in the fucking choir. Smurf smiled and clapped her hands.

"Should we sit down and eat then? Baz, help me fix the table."

* * *

**PART TEN: THE RHINO**

**Baz's P.O.V**

**xXx**

Barry Blackwell, better known as Baz, speared a tomato on the tip of his fork and popped it into his mouth. The bench in the backyard was bursting with laughter, sunshine, and cheer as plates were passed, beers were downed, and stories were had. He, unfortunately, liked the girl, despite all his reservations.

She was outrageously blunt, swore like a sailor, by the beer bottles bungled by her dish, drank like a fish, and was, seemingly, always one snark away from causing a brawl. In short, she was a Cody, there was no doubt about that after five minutes in her company, and normally, on any other given day, that would have drove Baz to insanity. He had enough dealing with Deran, Craig, Pope, and now the kid, and here she comes, strutting in, dimpled and sarcastic and-

And Baz spotted a kindred soul. There was a doggish sort of perception an abused kid grows up to have. A jaded squint. A vigilant posture. A fluid way they spoke, easy and effortless, but excellent in the way they superficially sidestepped personal questions by never giving too much away, always asking a question back, a quick diversion of topics, so you never noticed they had, in the end, not given more than one word away.

"_What school did you go to?"_

"_Boarding school. I heard America doesn't really have them. Is that right?"_

"_Where did you grow up?"_

"_Small place in Surrey. You wouldn't know it. Nothing like this, what temperature is this? Its diabolical. I never thought-" _

"_Where are your guardians? Are they back home or-"_

"_Around. I'm on vacation. Hey, you don't happen to know where the best place for bike repair is, do you? I've been looking everywhere and-"_

You never noticed unless you _too_ were an abused kid who grew up to have the same sort of doggish perception. Baz _saw_ Nora, and, he thought, by the shine in her eye, she saw him too. Neither said a word. She didn't mention, nor look too long, at the cigarette burn mark at the crux of his elbow she spotted as he lifted his drink, and he politely looked away from the scar scrawled on the back of her hand he spied as she reached for the potato salad. _I must not tell lies. _

Yeah, he noticed a kindred soul sitting opposite him, Craig on one side, Lena on the other, but he did not like her until she turned her attention to the latter. His daughter had been quiet all day, in a way no kid should be quiet, hardly touching her food, scarcely speaking, and despite his efforts to bring her out of her shell, to see a smile grace her face, Baz was failing. He was failing _horribly_.

He had been since her mother went missing, in truth. Shit. Maybe he wasn't cut out for this, every choice he made appeared to be the wrong one, and maybe he should…

"Want to see a magic trick?"

Lena peeked up, nodding shyly. Eleanora gestured to the little box of craft art supplies perched at her side.

"Pass me a crayon. Your favourite colour."

Lena wavered for a tick before she dipped her hand in and, of course, dragged out a little pink crayon, blunt and snapped and well used. Baz leaned back in his chair, watching. Theatrically, Nora flicked the crayon through her fingers, weaving, flipping it this way and that deftly. Tugging up the sleeves of her leather jacket to show nothing but wrist, she finally placed the crayon in her palm and clasped it in both hands. She shook her hands before stretching them out to Lena.

"Blow."

Lena frowned, eyeing the cupped hands wearily.

"Why?"

Eleanora grinned and leaned down close, conspiratorially.

"Because everybody knows all good magic runs on the wishes of a Princess. So, puff away princess, and make a wish."

A laugh, sunny, bright, and everything Baz had missed in the last few months. Tilting close, Lena blew. Nora pulled back, jostled her fastened hands once more, and then, skirting them near to Lena, where she would be able to see her opening palms, she unfurled her fingers.

A butterfly. A pink fucking butterfly. Big and bold and colourful and… And alive. It quivered its wings as Lena gasped, face breaking into a delighted smile.

"Wow!"

Nora winked.

"Hold your hands out."

Lena's hands darted out swiftly, as she bounced in her seat in excitement. Delicately, Nora nudged and prodded the pink butterfly onto the small child's knuckle. It wiggled a bit, fluttered, and then settled and Lena smiled, smiled in a way Baz had forgotten she could, a smile that broke his heart and set a grin upon his own face. She looked to him, eyes wide and innocent and so far from his own.

"Can I keep it, daddy? Can I?"

Baz nodded but turned to Nora.

"How the hell did you do that?"

She nudged Lena with a soft elbow, earning a giggle as the little girl responded for her.

"Magic daddy!"

At his raised brow, Nora rolled her eyes at him. Actually rolled her eyes, as if Baz was the gullible kid who couldn't tell fact from fiction. Moreover, there was a glimmer here, prowling in the pupil, a clever cut of a person who was having the last laugh of a joke only they could understand.

"A good guess at a little girls favourite colour, quick reflexes and a slight of hand, or it was magic. Take your pick. I know which one I believe in."

The way she spoke made it positively seem like a dare. A leap of faith. Or a sarcastic gripe. Magic or nimble fingers, Lena was smiling, now chatting away to her butterfly, offering a succulent cherry for it to sip at, and she was giggling, grinning, gleaming. _She was happy. _

"Thank you."

Nora shrugged it off, clearly uncomfortable with the gratitude, as she physically shrank in her seat. Baz had the sudden thought she was the type of person to be uneasy with any style of appreciation. And, apparently, things were only going to get more uncomfortable as the patio doors opened wide and, who else could it possibly be but J, came stomping out, school backpack still perched over his shoulder, red cheeked from a hard ride up the hill. He spied them immediately and zeroed in on Eleanora.

"Nora? What are you doing here?"

* * *

**Next Chapter: Craig, Smurf, and J's P.O.V**

It's been a long time since my last update, blame my university lecturers as they've been cracking the whip lately, and I wouldn't be surprised if this fic went sailing silently into the void of forgotten favourites and follows lol. However, here it is, the update that has taken me around, oh, eight months. That makes me wince even thinking about it lol. I hope you all liked it, I should be back to regular updates now, and I am awfully sorry for the long wait, but I thought it would be better for a long update rather than completely abandoning the fic.

I know there wasn't a lot of Craig this chapter, but there is a whole bunch next, including our problematic fav: Smurf, so buckle up kids! It's all out rodeo from here.

**Thank you all for the follows and favourites, and if you could, drop a review and let me know your thoughts.**


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